Team Cowboy
by FanFicAddict02
Summary: Sometimes even complete opposites must team up to conquer the most challenging obstacles. What if the ending to TS2 had been different and the Round-Up Gang ended up at the museum?  Will the Round-Up Gang overcome the odds, or succumb to them?
1. Chapter 1

_**Team Cowboy.**_

**Chapter One**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Toy Story or any of its characters.**

**Summary: Sometimes even complete opposites must team up to conquer the most challenging obstacles. Often, this will involve coming to terms with someone of the most despicable avarice. What if the ending to TS2 had been different? Will the Round-Up Gang overcome the odds, or succumb to them?**

~X~X~X~

The aged caretaker chuckled menacingly as he admired his fine crafty work. Perfect - as always.

"He's for display only," Eyes trained on his handiwork, he couldn't have felt more complacent. "You handle him too much, he's not going to last." The breath was shortly oozed out of him in a single, great gush of air when a bulky, overweight man charged into him to admire the star in the display case at a closer view.

Al McWhiggan couldn't have been more pleased. Large, rounded orbs gaped intensely at the final, most vigilant piece of his set. "Oh, he's amazing - you're a genius! He looks just like new!"

The cleaner ingested Al's attitude and his previous act only with meek interest as he folded his arms across his chest at the chicken man's side. In all fairness, nothing mattered to him as long as his work was spot-on as usual, and this time wasn't an exception of any sort. "And I hope you plan on keeping him that way," The old man commented, his spectacles glistening with some odd sense of superiority.

Al's optimism seemed to drop a mile as he moved his eyes towards the cleaner. "Huh?"

"Prizes such as this are very valuable artefacts, Mister McWhiggan." Al felt his eyebrows arch. Of course he was aware of that. It was the whole point behind why he was selling them, after all. They were like stuffed gold. "And many would be willing to take the burden of carrying them around off of your hands for you."

"Wha-?"

"Did I hear you mention before you were planning to sell this collection off, before?"

"Well - yeah…but-"

"Are you aware of how many mishaps occur within these luggage systems?" Al barely had the time to stammer an incomprehensible answer. "And I assume you don't have anything to protect your case with?"

"I never-"

"Well - let me tell you this, sir," The cleaner began, moisturising his lips as he spoke. "Replacements for these kinds of collectible items can be quite costly, if you know what I mean." Without even having the slightest intention of attempting to understand what the old man was saying, Al became unfaithfully aware of the exact meaning behind his words. "So you might want to try purchasing a lock - okay?"

He didn't even give the matter a second thought for the time being as he mindlessly agreed.

The Collectibles were of star-quality. Lose a piece of the set, and their sentimental value will drop significantly.

…

"Just go..." Her last hopes were far from taut. She felt them shatter aimlessly when the Sheriff lowered himself gently down from the windowsill and onto the chair's arm in defeat. He didn't understand. He couldn't have, otherwise he'd contradict her order by refusing. That was the best way to make sure that inner morals and intentions were sought out, she thought. Or perhaps things worked differently where he was from? He'd understand if he really knew her.

_All the more reason for him to go_, she tried to tell herself. But encrypting this into her mind was a whole different kettle of fish. Barely twenty-four hours before her saviour had arrived as the answer to all of her problems, but there'd been more to him than that. He did not want to be the saviour so to speak. He'd wanted to get back to his owner, Andy, to live as a child's favourite toy. A position only few dream to have and one that she'd lost a long time before. It'd broken her spirits completely to extents unimaginable. At this time she'd started picturing herself in his boots, and the path leading forward looked unfavourable.

As he walked away wordlessly dwelling on his own half-hearted thoughts, she tried to imagine what it'd be like to be in such a position he was in. If she'd been taken away from Emily by a mad-man with a passion for gluttony and dollar notes, would she want to go through with what they were suggesting? Would she have left Emily behind, even despite the fact that she was clearly growing up, to live a life of luxury before the eyes of thousands of little kids staring at her in awe? To be loved for eternity by children who knew not of her sentimental value - would it be worth it knowing what she'd leave behind? Jessie tried to narrow down her perspective to focus on only what truly mattered, but soon saw no point. She'd cherished Emily far too much to do that. But then why did she feel so bitter inside at the thought of being forced back into the place she most despised? The Sheriff was only doing what was right.

In exasperation and in a great sense of forlorn, she sighed and began the mental countdown. He'd be gone soon and Al would put them all back in storage. She'd been waiting many years for this chance and now she felt that counting on another hero to save the day would be pointless. Once the rest of them were back in the box, it might be years until they get another opportunity like this. And there was no guarantee to hand out the promise stating that they actually will. They could rot in the box for the rest of their existence while their bodies still functioned before time rusted her voice box up. After that, she didn't know what would come of her. She dreaded to think of it, simply.

That was why the museum was their greatest choice. Al's storing cupboard was damp and dusty, but the display cases in Tokyo, Japan wouldn't be. A polish every day and chances to stretch their parts whenever possible. Most importantly, they'd also have room and time to wander around after hours and they could just be free. Jessie didn't reckon she'd get any of that back in storage and plus, the muscle cramps and the dreaded fear of being trapped in darkness for the rest of time were awful.

She heard him lift the vent's hatch up. He was leaving them, and he wouldn't be coming back. Her insides hollered in despair at the thought of having to endure her apprehension all over again. Once he was gone, the waiting game would be played and there was no telling when it'll end. Simple as that - theoretically speaking of course.

Meanwhile the path the Sheriff faced looked gelid and unfriendly. The dark route the vent took towards his escape hung in darkness and desolation. He paused in deep thought for a moment. Was this really what he wanted? To leave the gang behind after everything they've been through? He was their only chance. That moment didn't last.

A voice drew him from his heavy state of mind. "How long will it last, Woody?" Woody's senses stilled. A point told was a powerful burden to the heart, but was there valid reason to it? Should he ask himself this? Or should he walk the cold trail ahead, like nothing mattered to him more than his loyalty to his owner? He wondered sadly, but came to no definite conclusion. His tongue felt like ice so he couldn't speak; but he listened, intently, to those soft words that had kept his female counterpart going with hope and determination through all of that time in storage. And felt his world fall quietly into new reality. "Do you really think Andy is gonna take you to college? Or on his honeymoon?" Pete's bitter twist made the point clear to the Sheriff. The child wouldn't and Woody was beginning to come to terms with this now, at the back of his mind. The path ahead of him now seemed inconceivable past the shadowing darkness. "Andy's growing up - and there's nothing you can do about it."

Woody'd never felt a blow like this before. It overwhelmed his every thought and tugged at his final heart-string. His head hung lower as he dwelled on what Pete had just said and came to his poorly constructed conclusion. Andy was growing up. There was nothing to deny this and he was very aware of it. Over the last year, Woody'd taken notice of the sudden disappearance of many of Andy's old pre-school toys and suddenly felt a great weight inside his chest as he pieced it all together. It was only a matter of time before Andy outgrew him and then who knew what would happen when he took his final rip? He'd face a fate similar to Jessie's and then there would be nothing left for him to do.

"It's your choice, Woody." Pete continued solemnly. "You can go back or you can stay with us - and last forever."

'Forever...' It was such a Purdy word. It was a term he'd been subconsciously pondering over ever since Ms. Davis placed him on the shelf the day before. Toys don't last forever. But was it true? The museum was offering him the answer to his question, and there were a great many chances of it being a no. They could live forever in Tokyo and would need not fear of rotting away or being rusted over by the hands of spontaneity.

"You'll be adored by children for generations." Woody perked up at that. The idea seemed very welcoming. To live forever being cherished and admired by children all over the world? Nothing to him seemed more content and satisfactory than to be able to make a child happy. He'd been to hell and back with Andy's father who'd kept him tucked away on a shelf in his room for years on end watching him grow up and leave bits and pieces of his childhood behind, one by one like waste with sentimentalised hands. And he knew eventually that Andy would only turn out just like him, in the end. He was bound to, but the fate wasn't anything the Sheriff wanted to face over and over again until the years didn't count anymore. It was Heartbreak, being torn away from an aging child like that. But what if he could live without it? To watch the awe-inspired eyes of wondrous children stare pass them from sparkling glass behind metal voids and live through it without the encrypted fear every toy known to this world was born with?

He'd never be touched. That seemed to be one of the key factors that crossed Woody's mind as he risked one more glance down the path that stood cold and malicious through the eyes of the spirited. Knowledge was burden to him and he knew of the times that'd face him if he made that route into the rest of his life. It'd be just like the first time. The kid would grow distant barely acknowledging the life that wanted nothing more other than value in a heart; then friends would be pulled away by a teenager and abandoned like they'd meant nothing; and then - well - the 'child-no-more' would just forget. Take no notice of every single thing they'd put forward for the sake of the one that'd grown too old for toys. Woody remembered what it was like very well. It was pure torture on the mind, the spontaneity of it all - being aware of what was out there waiting but with no idea on how long the Waiting Game would last.

Woody felt it safe to say that he did not want to go through with this again. But then he thought of the other option that perched before his form like a ready door to a guaranteed freedom. He could go to the Museum with his Gang. He was still under no immediate recognition of this fact as of yet, that he had his own gang to call family. It felt just so far-fetched to be true. All of his life he'd thought he'd been created just for the sake of it, to be a child's plaything for the entirety of his life. But it all went According to Hoyle, and he was a star!

Insubordination certainly wasn't a bad thing. The Sheriff knew this to heart. Without it, life would never change and sometimes it has to change for the better good of society. So then, if that was the case, it'd be safe to say all was fine to leave his owner behind to fill up the empty hole in the Round-Up Gang? He asked himself this very carefully and slowly as he stepped back from the vent's hatch.

At the corner of his eye he spotted the horse approaching nervously with eyes lowered facing the bland carpet. The look he saw on Bullseye's face almost tore up the stuffing in his heart. They'd go back into storage if he stuck to his logic and not his heart, and he didn't want to leave Jessie in the place she most despised while he made a kid with toys to spare happy. Glumly, the Sheriff thought of what a waste it'd be to leave the horse to rot for the rest of his time in the dark and felt melancholy stir in with emotions when Bullseye reached him with round, sparkling eyes in hope.

Woody made one final calculation of the pros and cons of this situation in his mind. And came to his conclusion. Lifting his hand to stroke Bullseye's mane soothingly, he felt his senses lighten inside. This was where he was meant to be - with his family. - - -"Who would I be...to break up the Round-Up Gang?" He started petting Bullseye's neck faster when the horse's expression lit like a thunder-bolt illuminating the night sky.

Stepping back, he closed the vent's hatch and paced to the side just as Jessie's head turned in his direction. And when he caught her gaze, brightening instantaneously when the shock died, he came to his final conclusion: This was where he was meant to be - - and who he was meant to be with...

...

He didn't understand how everything could've turned out like this. In the matter of a few mere moments, his confidence he'd once felt about the idea had arrogantly abandoned him leaving him distraught and befuddled where the pain ached. He breathed in and out slowly. Frustration and lachrymose began to mix into his emotions making it seem like he'd just made the worst mistake of his life.

And in all sincerity, his subconscious knew he had. He'd just down-right rejected Buzz's pleads for him to return back to his owner, flat-out. A child who cherished him deeply and one that wouldn't do a_ thing_to hurt him.

He sadly picked out the tunes his character was singing in the Woody's Round-Up show in the background as he felt his spirits drop. Sitting on the tape roll down on the floor more than two yards away from the TV set, all seemed hopeless. He deflated as he sighed.

**_ - Some other folks might be a little bit smarter than I am -_** He pulled back just a little bit. Insides lighting like a firework struggling against a water-mill, something about those words clicked at the back of his mind sticking in place.

_- Bigger and stronger too - Maybe -_It was the child on the TV screen that really caught his attention in the black and white. The purpose of a toy's existence revolved immediately around beings of that child's sort, to make them happy. It was what they were made for - to be played with and loved by a child. It was everything a cheap, disposable object could dream of. And to be a favourite was just...more than anyone the Sheriff knew could want. And yet he was prepared to give it all away to live forever to be admired behind glass and metal. It was frankly farfetched, and Woody knew he shouldn't want it.

Then his heart turned when he saw the child throw his arms around the puppet affectionately. That was all the Sheriff could want, and all he ever will want. He wanted to love and be loved.

**_- But none of them will ever love you the way I do -_** And that was when the pieces of the troubled puzzle fell into place harmoniously. Toys were meant to be for one reason, and one reason only. It suddenly made sense to the Sheriff now, that he was making the biggest mistake of his life. In disillusioned shock he straightened his posture and allowed the nerves in his body to fall limp as he dropped his gaze.**_ - It's me and you, boy -_**

Something in his consciousness stirred and his hands subconsciously found the heel of his boot. Before he even knew it, the boot had been turned over and he was scratching the auburn paint off with his knuckles. The horrid frontage concealing only the truth that dawned on him too heavily for him to narrow-mindedly withstand.

**_-And as the years go by, our friendship will never die… You're gonna see it's our destiny-_**

A sigh. "What am I doing?"

A thousand bolts of electricity surged through him. Before he knew it, he could feel the wind on his body - his senses - his mind… Every single current brought pain through him. All over his body, he felt this inhumane emptiness spread over him. A strange kind of feeling: Guilt.

He couldn't just abandon his owner - no matter what. He had to stay with him - as well as the Round-Up Gang. It was a hard decision to make. The hardest one he'd ever faced, but he blatantly knew the answer.

Sheriff Woody the cowboy doll would be nothing without him.

Daring not to give it a second thought, he turned away from the TV set and his overwhelming façade, ready to rejoice with his heart and his mind.

...

His timing couldn't have been any more inconvenient.

Common instinct made Woody freeze in his spot, listening intently to the pounding sound in the distance. One - and then another. Footsteps. And they were heading right for the door.

Woody's eyes grew wide. "It's Al!"

Moments were ill by the time Bullseye and Jessie leapt back to their foam holdings to avoid being caught red-handed in the act of being alive. Woody barely had time to throw himself forward by the time the footsteps built up to the door, just missing the foam holding by the time Al bounded into the room with anxiety in his thick expression. Instinctively, the toys in the vent stepped back into the shadows to avoid being seen.

Frantically, the large man with boundless passion moved on his stocky legs towards the corner of the room. "I'm going to be late! The thing is I can't miss this flight." He carried himself over towards the cases he'd packed the collectible stars in and dropped to his knees. "Let's see: Keys, wallet -" He suddenly froze in his tracks, eyes captured by the sight of the famous collectible Woody in his hands.

All of a sudden, his expression dropped in pure disbelief. A moment of immobile wordlessness passed before the pressure eventually struck him full-on. "He was out of his case!" Al's logic behind the matter was far from adequate. "Oh, the old man warned me about this!" He dropped Woody back into his foam-holding, disquiet marking the creases on his face. A glance was shot around the room, but there was nothing to be found. This only aggravated him to an even greater extent. "Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no!" A stuttering fool. "First they go for the Declaration of Independence and now _me_? What have I ever done to them? Oh Lord, have mercy!" They must have security cameras and spying devices all over the place.

"It must've just been an accident," He was on his knees now, trying desperately to think of the ideal explanation behind what he'd just seen. There was no point in even trying. The evidence was incontrovertible. "Oh, but I really need to go!" But even then he was the most indecisive fool known to the evolution of mankind. "I need to keep you guys safe!" Geri's words were knit-picking at Al's subconscious, and he just knew he had to do something about it.

Deciding he needed to get out of the apartment - _right now_- he put Woody in the case along with the rest of the toys. As he did so, his eyes fell upon the front of the case where a small rectangular shape of metal was perched directly above the handle. The circular rods protruded from the metal all holding numbers that could be mixed and matched to form a very unique code. Inspiration struck him momentarily. "Ah, I remember! This case has a lock!" A frown struck his face shortly. "If only I could remember how to lock it…" Contortion in his features then followed. "I'll do it in a bit - I just have to go now!"

And then, daring not to waste another moment, he took off with his gathered luggage and headed towards the door.

The toys in the vent stood in bewilderment, their expressions slightly agape as the reality of the situation began to kick in. Rex's drawling apprehension was the first sound to break the bounded silence. "Oh, I don't like this at all, Buzz!" His tiny arms were only halfway up to his face as his teeth chattered in timid fright. "Not one bit - what are we going to do?"

Not even an intellectual idiom on the noble Ranger's part. "They'll be all right, Rex. We just have to remain calm and orderly." To their unmindful beings, they were already shifting back down towards the end of the vent where the passageway headed the way they'd just crossed.

"Excuse me, if you will-" Intercepted the bonus Buzz Lightyear as they all initiatively made their way towards the elevator. "But I do believe that this historical land-petrifying monster here was with intention of receiving intellectual answer from me." Buzz rolled his eyes, deciding to instead train his gaze in the intended direction as he quickened his pace into a run.

Rex clasped his hands together, awkwardly fumbling around as he tried to keep up with the rest of the group. "Did you hear that? He called me a monster! Oh, I feel so honoured!"

"Never mind that!" Potato-Head inputted, retaining the urge to throw his bowl-cupped hat at the imbecile.

"But-"

"Not now, Rex!" Buzz ordered, quickly forming a plan together in his mind. "We just need to get to that elevator!"

There was no hustle after that. Common clairvoyance passed through them all freshly clarifying the objective in their minds as the cool air flattened out the senses around them hard.

A corner was turned. And a pair of glowing eyes met them. Scarlet eyes through the dim light - and a gaping gold mouth.

What the…? "It's Zurg!"

And as sure as Star Command, it was.

…

A short ding indicated the elevators arrival. With a loud, swoosh the exhilarant silver doors spread apart to allow entrance. Not wasting another second, Al passed through the doors and fitted himself inside. A gentle music played in the background as he thrust his chubby fingers against one of the buttons repeatedly to get the doors to shut promptly. After much uncalled for mental relapse, he pulled himself away and sighed deeply. Once he'd racked his mind together to enter a code into the lock, awkward unease began to wash over him.

"Just twenty-three more floors to go, big-shot - you can do this!"

…

Turns out, he couldn't. When the lift's descent down towards the ground floor halted abruptly after a mere ten floors, his mental state was nearing 'absolutely berserk'. He couldn't believe it: He'd miss his flight if he came across anymore unnecessary disruptions.

Before the doors even had a chance to part again, he was jabbing his finger into a button so forcefully his behaviour would've even shocked him had be been in the right frame of mind. "This lift is taken!" Still, uncoordinated commotion still seemed to occur behind the doors where he could spot a young brunette cradling a small child against her chest, her cerulean eyes agape in complete shock. Her face looked contorted. Al rolled his eyes. "I said this lift is taken!"

The doors closed, leaving a very aggravated salesman to just sigh heavily where he stood. The cries of the child could still be heard even after the lift continued on its journey. "Stupid woman! Didn't she read the signs? NO CHILDREN ALLOWED!"

…

A hatch was pulled back to construct a gaping hole in the elevator's roof.

"Are you sure this'll work?" Slinky asked cautiously, looking back at the fixated Hamm.

"I'm sure!" Hamm snapped in a hushed whisper, positioning himself closer to the hatch. "Just drop down and try to work that code. He's bound to have put one on by now."

That was true. Who knew how much time they'd wasted with their encounter with the notorious Zurg - Buzz's sworn arch-nemesis? Plenty of time to form a simple three-numbered code into a one dollar lock. A code that could break those with even the most patience and plenty of spare time on their hands.

From 0-0-0, there were nine-hundred and ninety-nine different combinations to choose from. Only one of them would work, proving quite arrogantly that the odds were not in their favour.

Coils rustling as he lowered himself down, he examined his surroundings. The Chicken Man appeared to have his stare heavily trained on the double doors ahead, definitely not paying much attention to anything else around him. A perfect opportunity.

Slinky quickly gathered up the sheer determination and made a swing for the case. A failed attempt. Another try - and he missed this one also. A pressure of some vague sort was beginning to build up within him stirring something that shouldn't dare be touched.

Come on! He tried again, this time just able to get his paws wrapped around the handle. Focusing on his balance as he hung, he lifted his concentrated gaze and reached for the padlock. Obviously, Al had been smart enough to conceal his code as the digits now read 0-0-0, unless he'd forgotten of course. A sudden flare of hope igniting in him, he tested it out. Unfortunately, this was not the case.

To add insult to injury, by the time Slinky even tried to have a crack at the code, a small ding was heard and the doors to the elevator sprung open allowing passage into the lounge.

"Finally!" Al proclaimed, sauntering forward without even a second thought. The sudden movement sent tremendous vibrations coursing through him and his springs reacted violently to this. He was forced to let go of the case as his body fell, head-first onto the floor.

_No!_

Before he knew it, he was joined on the elevators floor by the rest of the group. Shock mixed into his thoughts paralysing him instantaneously. How…? How was this even possible? He'd been so close! _To taking the leap towards catastrophic chances…_

It was Potato-Head who'd collected himself together the fastest. When his gaze travelled towards the lounge, he saw that Al was about to pass through the controlled doors that offered their only chances. All of an instant, the spud was aware of one thing: They had to get through it.

Taking the risky chance as soon as possible, he took his hat off of his head and readied himself carefully. He had only one chance at it. If he blew it now, then they'd lose Chicken Man and his toys for good - possibly forever in this massive city.

Like a Frisbee, he threw the hat through the air in the hopes it'd wedge between the doors to give them just that very small gap to squeeze through. If he succeeded, then they might find Woody and bring him back home.

Instead, the timing went slightly awry. Black plastic hit the door frames just as they closed, falling aimlessly to the ground when their taut hopes shattered into a million pieces...


	2. Chapter 2

_**Team Cowboy.**_

**Chapter Two**

~X~X~X~**  
><strong>

Utter darkness. That was all the Sheriff could see. No hope, no help - he couldn't spot anything of the sort. Wherever he was, he was completely alone in the velvet tassels of desolation with nothing but his caressing thoughts. It definitely wasn't where he wanted to be, now that he saw the error in the decision he'd made earlier, because the lack of light and the condensed space threatening to close in on him completely only meant one thing.

Al had them packed up in a suitcase - and there was no way of escaping. The news struck down on Woody hard making him gasp in complete surprise. All of a sudden, the realization began to fall into place like pieces of a jigsaw piecing harmoniously against one another to succumb all of the pitiless odds with their subdue intoxicating the purity of their minds. He couldn't escape. Escape was impossible. To escape would be defying bad luck completely, almost like trying to find a speck of greenest grass in a dead prairie in the dead of night.

Returning home was impracticable. He'd ruined his chances earlier by even doubting his loyalty to his owner. What on Earth had he been thinking? He should've fled instantly once he'd realized Al's intentions, perhaps even before. Not risking his chances with him at all, slipping away from the apartment through the compacted gateway leading into the building's vent system before the ecstatic, redheaded lunatic and her mad horse even had the chance to introduce themselves. That way, he'd be waiting for Andy at home now rather than facing the unfathomable fate he had no chance of diverting.

_This could have been avoided!_

And it could have. In fact, he could have solved the problem right from the start without even realizing it. If he'd just been more careful in the rescue of his old friend, Wheezy the fame-desiring penguin, he mightn't have found himself in this situation to begin with: About to be ripped from his life with Andy to face a life of restricted stardom and collectible fame at the other end of the world, a path he now regretted even contemplating. Oh, how could he have been so stupid?

A battle of the darkest sorts surged on within Woody's artificial heart of broken seams and stuffing. The truth behind the façade was now beginning to ache him inside. He's ruined it now. For Andy and himself -

"No-" He gasped, his voice very an audible whisper. The contempt and the despair embedded oh-so fruitfully into his final heart-string made his voice arcane.

Stinky Pete's, however, was not.

"Don't. You. Even. Think. About it." Woody could hear the faint rustle of stodgy fabric against cardboard as the prospector centred his death stare right at him. He wouldn't be able to see anything in the darkness, but God - if looks could kill -

Woody thought about protesting, about throwing his fists and his boots up against the suitcase's lid to attract some unwanted attention from the Foil guiding their way to the dreaded museum, but then reminded himself that the caricature Pete was armed with a plastic pick-axe that could screw up even the toughest and the tightest of bolts. The Sheriff thought best to leave it be, and wallow in his own despair.

Solitary confinement. Isolation from the rest of the world as facile silence worked its way around the carnage he'd landed himself into. Only, he wasn't alone. He could hear a slight whimper from below. Barely even audible, but he heard it eventually when his mind began to cave in. So soft and feeble it struck him internally.

_Bullseye…_

He wasn't alone. Woody remembered now. How he could've forgotten that Jessie and Bullseye weren't really in the wrong, he hadn't the faintest clue. Jessie may have influence the aliquant antagonism between them shortly after they'd first met only the day before, but how could she have rejected the words Pete had forced into her mind point-blankly? Recklessness can play great key in beliefs as he'd come to see - after all, it'd shown vividly in Buzz when the space ranger had been nothing more than his deluded self. And Bullseye - well - he just couldn't say anything at all. If they were to hate anyone, then Pete was the cheat to despise. Not anyone else. That wasn't fair.

The darkness began to merge into a collage suitable for only those who sought rehabilitation. A slumbering child lay on a bed of quilt as a pair of hands passed down a prized possession like no other - the very collectible Sheriff, himself - and then the scene morphed into a time of joy and despair. The imagery was blended together so finely - so precise it added both melancholy and the glee of the most extravagant sorts into Woody's emotions. Then eventually, he could not tell what was what. It all just blurred together in his mind, burning everything in its path - every thought, every sense and every nerve.

**_-No, no, no. I can't do storage again - I just can't!-_**  
><strong><em>-Jess-<em>**  
><strong><em>-I won't go back in the dark!-<em>**

Jessie the Yodelling Cowgirl's fear of the dark was starting to make sense now. Without light, nothing could be seen. When nothing can be seen, anything could. From the darkest days of his best to the best - merging together to form the tragic basis of the bigger picture. And now the larger picture stood perfectly illustrated in his mind.

He was never going to see his old friends again.

...

"You should have stopped him!" _You can say that again…_ Bitterness. "Buzz!"

The Space Ranger levelled his eyes meekly on Potato-Head, his dreaded companion on this mission. His stare was firm but not callous. "What?"

The area outside the apartment complex was dead. Deserted, almost. Night had fallen outside leaving a perplexed layer of mist to reconcile a few inches above the ground, oddly appearing to mirror the inner turmoil battling on within the core of the Space Ranger. _Urgh…_ How could he have been so impotent? Andy was going to be distraught. And yet there was nothing he could do. With no knowledge of the next flight to Japan - when it was taking off, how to get there, which flight to take, how far away Tokyo was from where the plane stopped and even the name of the museum Woody was being sold to - Buzz Lightyear really was inane.

"Why didn't you stop him?" For the first time in the Space toy's short life, he hadn't a clue of what to say. How was he supposed to react? Should he be moping? In despair? In _hysterics_? Just how was he to come to terms with the loss of something to important to their owner? Woody - the favourite. Andy would take weeks to get over something like that. Buzz - perhaps if he was lucky - would take years. "He was right there! Just outside of the vent!" Mr. Potato-Head had a facial expression so unique to go along to embellish each and every idiom of speech. He looked frustrated, Buzz thought, but he couldn't really tell. Everyone in the group must be exasperated in some way or another. "And you let the chicken man and his mad doll get to him first!"

"Urgh… Not now, Potato-Head." Hamm spoke at their side, his bobbing eyes fixated on the dust ridden floor. "Now isn't the time-"

"I think now is the perfect time!" The spud countered, his face breaking into a menacing scowl. "He lost Woody! And Andy's gonna be home any minute."

"Good for you," A narcissistic piggy-bank countered, his gaze now zeroed on the panicked Potato-Head. The Spud's attitude was beginning to rub off on him, too. "Now you can finally be what you always wanted - Andy's _fa-vour-ite_." Flabbergasted, Mr. Potato-Head stepped back with eyes widened.

"You _uncultured swine!_" He countered back with a tone like seething toxins. The Space Ranger only seemed to deflate as he sighed. For the first time since his box had been unopened, his really was unsure about any of this. Could this all truly be real? Or was it an illusion of the deluded? A groan escaped him as the spud and piggy-bank carried on perniciously and scrupulously with their enamoured dispute.

A quivering shudder of coils announced the slinky-dog's movement. Half-heartedly, Buzz acknowledged him. When Buzz met his glance, he was shocked by the thorough determination and absolute bewilderment he saw in the other toy's eyes. It reminded him of Woody, when the Sheriff had been willing to go to some serious measures to prove that the so called 'famous' Buzz Lightyear really wasn't who he thought himself to be after all. Someone else entirely.

"Golly-Bob-Howdy, guys. When are we going to learn that arguing won't ever do us no good?" _Someone who can do great things-_ That silenced the rest of the toys. Even Rex, who'd been momentarily secluding himself from the rest of the group to piece himself together, forced his panicky ends together to train his eyes on the coiled dog. "Now, I say we all stop this arguing and come up with something useful to help us a little. Don't you agree, Buzz?"

_Someone with the voice of a true leader -_ The authoritative tone in Slinky's voice surprised him. Holding strength, courage and resolve enough in it to fool even the highest ranking Star Command officer. A pure mastermind. Instantly, hope began to blend into the rest of Buzz's emotions. They could do it - as long as they only thought of a plan. A few well-tendered steps, and he could do it.

"Of course," He shook his head, dismissing his doubts and his self-sorrow. "Slinky's right - verbal conflicts will not lead us anywhere. We have to come up with a plan." Before the last word had even passed his lips, Buzz had structured together a mind map in his thoughts, using it to guide his every incentive and urge to form a path they could follow. Within moments, he had it. "We need to get back to Andy first. The next flight to our specified destination maintains high chances of not departing until morning."

Peculiar enthusiasm abruptly dropped on the rest of the group, lightening their spirits somewhat. "And then what do we do, Buzz?" Rex asked, making himself heard for the first time in a while. He looked like he wanted to tap his chin in deep thought, though his limb coordination would not allow such a thing.

The Ranger had an idea in mind, but open disposal of this could result in a very provocative time waste he couldn't afford. "We'll just have to think of the rest when we get back-" He interjected modestly. "But for now, we have to get back to Andy's before he does."

And then they were at a settled agreement.

"Hang on," Hamm interrupted, breaking into Buzz's chain of thought. "It took us hours to get here from Andy's before, so how do you even begin to think we're going to get back to Andy's and then back to the airport before the next flight?"

So perchance Buzz hadn't thought of that…

"Well-"_ Think!_ That was the last thing he was capable of. "I'm certain we'll come up with something."

"And how do you suggest we do?"

Now he was really put on the spot. The cerulean orbs scanned their perimeters in search for some kind of inspiration, no matter how big or small it may be. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. How could he be so blatant with his dumbfounded obliviousness? He asked himself this, but he was too thick in the head at the current moment to answer.

"Hey!" _What now?_ The Space Ranger let his eyes dance over to where Rex was frantically trying to get his attention. This certainly wouldn't be anything of any importance. "Is that the truck from the Pizza Planet place Andy always goes to?"

Perhaps it would be of more use that he had previously assumed?

...

_That back-stabbing, good-for-nothin' traitor!_ Over and over again._ I hope he swallows dynamite._ Long trails of silence - and then a mental temper-tantrum. If there was a meter in her mind, there would only be two readings for the needle to alter between: Insane and 'bored-stiff-out-of-her-mind.' One second, she's breaking apart the very air she ingested in search for any of the deadly properties that could send even the bulkiest - and the _**fattest**_ - of men into whimpering dogs cowering away from the all-too terrifying Hoover and the next thing she knows, she's staring in the darkness waiting for the time to pass.

One hour, two hours - ten hours - it was driving her insane. The countless seconds lead up into the endless moments only to cross the hours that never seemed to pass her by.

_One, two, three, four, five -_ It was impossible for her to even keep up with her thoughts. _Urgh - why can't I keep count?_ Five seconds later and then another ten. Pointless. The minute just appeared to have no end. On the clock, the moments ticked by but she'd been too disillusioned to keep track. A second led into minutes which didn't seem to pass. Her fear of the darkness was overriding now as she lay in her foam holding, digging her fingertips into the material to keep herself together as the time dragged on. Claustrophobia kicked in just as the dawning silence began to mix into the elements that made up the world and reality around her. _ It's storage all over again._

Memories forming told her of the years she'd spent inside that stupid box full of packing peanuts and the dreaded lack of spontaneity she loathed down to the very core. Every day had been alike in the dark: Indecipherable and hopeless. It was hard to tell one day from another when there was nothing to motivate her, and before she knew it years had passed. All gone. Within the matter of a search for one toy. One priceless artefact enough to outshine the rest of its group by merely existing. Worth more than enough to allow her confinement to continue without a second thought. Sheriff Woody - the rootinest, tootinest cowboy there ever was - a toy she never thought she'd meet. One who'd shadowed all expectations previously sought out by the solicitous cowgirl. He was not like she expected. Humble, almost. Not big-headed with knowledge of his role in a children's TV show.

In the essence of a place she most despised, she kept her thoughts trained on this matter for a while longer, thoroughly examining it from the inside-out. This Woody really had been something. More concerned about his loving owner than fame. Something she admired, admittedly. She'd have been the same, too, had things turned out differently. If she was the one Al had stolen before her time (even despite the fact that the fat Chicken Man pretty much had), then she'd have been over herself trying to get back to Emily - the child she continued to love more than anything in the world…

A whimper beside her tore her vehemently from her thoughts. Even through the dark, she could tell that to her left Bullseye was petrified absolutely out of his mind and she couldn't blame him for feeling that way. Reaching a hand carefully towards him, she dropped it subconsciously on one of his front hoofs. His violent stir almost startled her.

"Shh, Bullseye," She soothed, the tone in her voice as gentle as can be. They were about to be hauled straight through the pernicious bowels of hell with no guaranteed chance of coming back. She knew this, of course, but Bullseye didn't have to. He didn't need to know, or even understand, how much torture she was going through.

For, after all, she'd rather put up a smile for him than have to admit her worst fears had been branded and laid down on a fresh parchment of ignominious defeat.

…

"Anything from the trolley, sir?" A sweet voice asked at his side. So angelic and tender… If the thick oath knew one thing, it was that he could get used to this kind of service.

_'More like live off it - I feel like a king!'_ And so he should, his smugness told him quite informally. He'd spent years hunting down each and every item of that collection, baring no restrictions down on wood to get himself there. It was hard work, so he should be able to live on the high-run for just a few hours, right? He already knew the answer to this question, so asking it to himself again felt rather pointless.

He turned to the source of the voice. The bearer of this voice certainly lived up to his expectations, with blonde curls that perfectly framed her face and mesmerising beauty to die for. Her bright blue eyes certainly added expense to her figure.

"Ah, yes," He began, rather confidently. Observing the trolley settled by her waist, he quickly rummaged for his order. "I'll have a full-fat coke with a bag of your finest nachos, if you will." Al was too sidetracked to even notice the rather peculiar look he got from the air-hostess, though this wouldn't have mattered to him anyway even had he been aware of it.

He was living life to its fullest potential from now on.

Without a care in the world.

…

"You lost him?"

Perhaps the rest of Andy's toys wouldn't be quite as perceptible with the information?

"Buzz!" Bo exclaimed, her crook falling from her grip as she cupped her porcelain face in terror. The light dancing across her painted eyes showed heartbreak and disbelief._ Well,_ Buzz thought narrow-mindedly of the situation,_ it could've been worse._ "Is this true?" Of course it was. That was why Buzz hated himself at the moment. "He should be back here, shouldn't he?"

She seemed too tender to think anything harsh of her. If the situation had been different, then Buzz would have wondered and been dumbfounded by how such an intelligent woman could make such a ridiculous comment. The evidence was undeniable. The toys who returned had been grim and there was no Woody to be found. Only one explanation for that… A pain in his gullet like no other be began to swell up, gnawing pitifully at subconscious in many ways he had once thought impossible. Everything was just so surreal…

"I do regret to inform you, ma'am, that we were unsuccessful-" How on Earth didn't he even manage to spit this one out?

"Oh, my word!" Buzz turned on his heels to face a very shocked Mrs. Potato Head standing next to her husband. Where they had gathered by Andy's bed, it was a wonder he couldn't see all of their shocked faces, just staring at him - anticipating something that unfortunately won't be. The back of her frail hand struck her forehead, and she would've fainted had it not been for her husband's hold of her. Buzz didn't have to look at them to feel the intensity of Mr. Potato Head's icy glare on him.

"Look, we have everything under control." He ushered frantically and pathetically, his hands out before him in calm gesture. At the corner of his vision, he could spot the three, small alien toys Mr. Potato Head had accidentally saved when they'd all got the Pizza Planet Truck running. The gas had been full and the engine had been going, but when Buzz came across some nasty turn on his way to Andy's, the string they'd been dangling from snapped and the grumpy spud had been able to rescue them just in time. Ever since, they hadn't been able to keep away from them. Buzz was surprised almost that the toys' immediate target when they got in this room hadn't been Mr. Potato Head, but then again they've barely even been here a minute and the entire room has seemed to delve straight into an unfathomable pit of chaos. "We're going to have someone check the flights and then I'll be catching one first thing in the morning-"

"Wait!" Hamm intercepted, the expression on his face plummeting instantly. Subconsciously, Buzz noticed Mr. Potato Head scowl when the three alien toys near him making exclamations of 'You saved our lives - we are eternally grateful' and felt the dwelling defeat settle on him again. Woody was so many miles away from them along with the rest of the Round-Up Gang and the rest of the toys were not making it anywhere near easy for him to keep his focus. "_'You'll be catching one?_'" _And this is where the dreaded moment falls into place._ "Excuse me - correct me if I'm wrong - but I thought this was a team rescue."

Buzz blinked. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a whole group of bewildered faces gaping at him intensely. _Just great._ Exactly what he needed. A whole army of heads to contradict his word. "Okay," He sighed, deflating slightly. "I need to clear something out with all of you before I continue with my plan." Buzz quickly flashed his attention towards the window to see the night was progressing. Andy would be home any minute, so he had to be quick with his debrief. "Andy will be home shortly from his trip to Cowboy Camp and he _will_ notice Woody's gone, I can reassure you."

"So what are you getting at?" Potato Head demanded, narrowing missing a very sharp elbow right into his gullet by his impatient wife.

The Space Ranger retained the urge to smack the palm of his hand against his forehead. It was really quite tedious trying to talk some sense into this group single handed. Woody must be an absolute natural to have managed them for so long before his arrival. "When Andy comes home, he will notice Woody's gone." He spoke slowly to get every single point across. "And when he does, he's going to be upset. How do you think he'll feel if he wakes up tomorrow morning with half his toys missing?"

Highly to his very flummoxed misfortune, some of these lost managed to build inch thick barriers around their skulls for the very intention of not listening to him. "Hang on, so you're suggesting that _you_ should be the one to go there because he's going to miss us if we leave?" Probed Hamm, quite taken aback. "If I might remind you, you're the one with a position on Andy's bed. It'd be the end of the world in his perspective if you so happened to disappear off the face of the planet."

A roll of the eyes. "Not that I'm intent on insulting anyone, but I'm the only toy in this room designed sufficiently enough to fly halfway around the world." Stepping forward, he emphasised this by outstretching his limbs to show the rest how sturdy they were. It was blatantly clear that he was in fact the only toy capable enough of making this venture into the great unknown, but still tenacity ensued.

"What about me?" Mr. Potato-Head demanded, his face stern as he flailed his limbs in the air. "I have hands and legs, too, don't I?" It was clear the spud could and would not make this journey, but Buzz knew the plastic egghead had a temper that should be avoided if possible. So he kept the tune low.

"I would contemplate that matter," Buzz began, voice trailing off slightly as his weary eyes scanned the area around him for some sort of information. Then he caught sight of the three aliens hunkering next to Mrs. Potato Head. "But we need a strong, persistent toy to keep an eye on our new additions to the group."

Potato-Head's face dropped like a tonne of bricks falling off of the tallest building known to mankind. Shock and horror mixed in with his expressions as he tried to come up with a good comeback. Fortunately for the Space Ranger, none was to be found. And his wife actually seemed _very_ enthusiastic about the idea.

"Oh, that sounds great!" She proclaimed, joy suddenly crossing her eyes. "Just the right thing to pass our time during the day."

"Erm…"

"Oh, look at them! They're so adorable!" She drawled attentively, picking one up from the ground and embracing it tightly. Abruptly, an idea struck and she let out a very loud gasp. "I think we should adopt them!"

"What-?"

_There_, Buzz thought,_ that should keep his mouth shut. At least for a while._

"And Hamm," Buzz began, turning towards the fixated Piggy-Bank. "I'm going to need someone to do some research for me."

He had him there. Right at his weak point.

"Okay," Hamm answered, seeming quite intrigued. "But only for this once. Okay?"

Buzz's face lit into a smile. "That's the spirit!"

…

"Mum?" Andy pushed through the living room door, stopping himself by the large doorframe quite drowsily and peering into the front room. His Mother was resting on the sofa with her head in a book she'd spent a year trying to read. It was something old, most presumably, so this seemed nothing special. She was sat around two and a half metres or so away from their TV set perched on a wooden stand in the corner of the room. What little light was left from the outside passed through the crack in the sienna window curtain suspending from the window frame her seat was facing. All in all, the room looked very grim in spite of the fact that the lights were shining bright as ever. It all just seemed so different when he was nervous. Ms. Davis turned towards her son, expression not changing until she saw the look of trepidation on his face.

"Yes, Andy?" She asked, folding the book and placing it to the side. "Are you all right?"

He ignored her question. "Have you seen Woody?" His eyes showed worry. A part of her must've been on high-alert at that moment in time, almost anticipating this, because the next thing she knew she was on her feet. "Yes, I believe I have."

Solicitous emotions flashed across his face. "You have? I've been looking for him everywhere in my room, but he's not there. He's not where you left him."

Something clicked in her mind. "No - he's not. Your Buster must've been causing havoc in your room yesterday, young man, because he dragged him outside. If it weren't for me, he could be anywhere by now."

There was some truth to her narrow statement. For, unbeknownst to them both, his special Sheriff Woody was crossing time-zones thousands of feet in the air.

…

Andy peered over his mother's shoulder as she unlocked her tool-box in her garage. Excitement was coursing through him just at the mere thought of seeing Woody's face again after a long night without him. He wanted to rejoice so desperately with his toy to fill up that small space of emptiness that was gnawing at his conscience within him. Then, he might feel calm again.

The garage offered little light, but Andy could detect and replenish in his Mother's subtle hand movements as she turned the keys in the box's lock quite perfectly as he waited. Mixed feelings of anticipation and nervously soaked into his senses as he waited, creating ultimately one very strange feeling. One he couldn't quite decipher...

Hopes were torn. Instead of finding what he oh-so-badly wanted to see, the only spectacle noteworthy of interest the young boy saw was an empty case. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing there. Woody was gone.

"He's gone?" Barely a whisper. His heart quivered with the heavy threat of breaking as he gave the news time to settle in. Ms. Davis examined the non-existent contents of the box feeling panicky inside. Andy would be crushed if this was true. No - it couldn't be true. It just couldn't. Woody had to be somewhere, if not in the tool box.

She just had to say something to get her son down to easy spirits. "Oh, yes!" She proclaimed, reading straight off the lie forming in her head. "I remember now. I took Woody to a repairman to get his arm fixed. Buster made it worse for him when he dragged poor Woody outside, so now he needs fixing."

That wouldn't work. She could tell now from the look on his face. But she could only hope. Only hope that his favourite toy could be found or either replace by the times things got too serious.

She doubted it would.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Team Cowboy._**

**Chapter Three**

~X~X~X~

Minutes of silence sheathed delectable paths into hours of endless anticipation right before his gorging eyes. Topped with just the right amount of rendezvous inertia for the Prospector as the time passed promising his fortune and accrual as it glided, his assuagement built up within his thoughts making him more and more certain of the life that lay ahead. He just couldn't believe it! That they were finally going to the Konishi Toy Museum to live his life of unfathomable fame and diligence from youngsters all over the world. To get the attention he deserved even after all this time. Amenity he deserved and had been seeking since the day he'd been packed into his box to await years of neglection facing ingorant and arrogant children wherever he went.

That was why he deserved it. Had every damn right to live life to its fullest after being turned over by dozens upon hundreds of sticky-handed small people with their chubby-faces staring down at him, scrutinising his every last detail that failed to meet their fancy-gadget/overly-decorated standards set from the modern TV craze every child was victim to. It was only fair he had his time in the limelight. Where the world wasn't so conceiving and life wasn't so much of a contemptuous blowhard to every good man and toy that walked this Earth.

The horse had long-since stopped with his whimpering, and Stinky Pete was able to revel in his serenity.

Now there was just the waiting game to play. With its hands eager to wrap around his core and freeze time itself. Then he'd get what he really needed. Gain what he'd always deserved after so many delays and downfalls the years of his past had faced. Now he could really experience what so many toys had already been in the slimy grasps of and let it live to his standards while he was behind structured glass and display offering so much protection from the narrow-minds of children caring more about design than sentimental value.

After all, he'd much rather be loved indefinitely than have to line up his own devotion to be placed towards someone else. Things worked better this way - as he knew.

They only ever grow and forget as he'd come to learn. For a toy of his kind, perhaps - well - those options were just not possible.

...

He wanted to be scared. But to show fear would be to lay out every single one of his fears in big-bold words printed into an illustrated children's book decorated with cursive gold to attract the measley eyes of a passerby. He wanted to cower but to cower would be cowardice itself. And to be a coward meant handing over his insecurities right over to the toy that had made him question his trust in everything. In the Round-Up Gang; in Woody; and in Jessie, herself - the redheaded counterpart that had been there for him boundlessly for too many years to count.

All because of _him._

He wanted to be scared. But to be scared before someone he didn't trust to keep it to themselves would be stupid - a free passage-way into his heart and core where his loyalty and personality lay. Handing over a key to his inner knowing, in other words. And giving this key to someone gave access to _everything._ Into his thoughts, morals and everything he believed. A pass to trust falsely attained and faith blinded by the consortium acted upon, in other terms.

And now he was afraid, but he couldn't show that he was anymore. Not if he wanted to keep himself, Woody and Jessie out of the manipulative hands of the back-stabber he'd once trusted. He'd been able to rely on his every word at one point, in harmony with his aged wisdom and soothing words. But looks can be deceiving. He's learnt that now. Someone once depended on to see the best through the dark times can turn their back on everything - without even the modesty for a second thought.

Now Bullseye didn't know what was going to happen. It was anyone's game here and he was at extreme disadvantage.

The cards were in the hands of Stinky Pete the blowhard Prospector.

...

She didn't know what to do with herself. Darkness continued to wrap over her body, compressing every single last ounce of hope and squeezing every last droplet of pathological resilience right out from the depths of her inner core as she tried to fight against it all. Against the memories of a past that had been better; her loving owner and how she'd abandoned her at the roadside to waste and the heartbreak from her best friend; and then the years of the waiting, the dark, the bad thoughts...

They blurred together in her mind as she struggled, trying oh-so desperately to relieve the pain for herself. She couldn't be seen as weak now, especially when Bullseye was right beside her probably scared out of his wits. Outward tenacity needed to become substantial in her if she had any chance of showing Pete his place when they finally got to the musuem. Courage and determination even he couldn't manipulate with his devious words full of canny wisdom and unfathomable diligence to get what he wanted when the time comes. Words and thoughts that had once been able to guide Jessie through the unbearable times in storage to give her abound faith for the future.

He'd been kind. Far kinder than any of Emily's other toys had been considering they'd been envious of her position as Emily's all-time favourite. He'd told her everything would be all right - and she'd believed him. After all, by the time she'd got there, Pete had already been under Al's presumptuous watch for half a year and was mindlessly pursuing the hope that, in fact, one day he'd get through the deprived years and live up to the love and admiration he'd been stripped of his entire life. Locked up in his box unable to reach the rest of the world around him - to capture the brilliant, shimmering vibes of a child's face up close shining down on him brightly - he was bound to have found himself venturing into a section of his mind that dared not to be entered or even _contemplated _by the rest of them. Toys that had seen the light to everything and had nothing to churlish for. Yet Stinky Pete had come across something most had not: Loneliness.

Her sorrow for him must've carved its way into unspoken bonds of alliances and trusts because before she knew it, her outlook on everything began to change. What she'd once seen as the tacit norm developed over time and she began to see children in a dimmer limelight. Being within the hands of a child to seek the endless adventures their minds conjure was certainly a treasure to behold, but it _never _lasts. Not once will she ever hear of a happy ending. Pete knew this best of all and it began to merge into the basis of her thoughts, far from potent but endearing enough to influence Jessie's narrowing outlook on what it was to be a toy.

But he'd been so enthusiastic about the opening opportunity for them at the museum. Pete might've given up on any hope of ever putting his trust and loyalty into a single child, but Jessie'd known the heartbreak he hadn't been subjected to. Knew what it was like to love someone to the end of the world and have them turn away absent-mindedly like everything between them had been worth nothing at all. A complete waste of time. The Prospector of course had witnessed it happen. Many-a-time in the Dime Store, truth be told. Second-hand toys would arrive with glum spirits and trembling views on the future, daring not to place their boundless devotion and affection into another kid again in fear of more anguish and despair to come. But he'd still had hopes for the future, that the next step forward would satisfy his cravings and finally kill off any inquisitive thoughts popping about in his plastic skull. She'd admired this about him. And it was this admiration that finally became the assurance that changed her completely. If she could finally be loved by children and not have to fear the risks of handing over her frail dedication over, then she would never have to face that emotional trauma again. The one that had sunk into her core and left her numb inside - a continuous ache, droning on...

But he was a full-blown coward. He'd used his manipulative wiles on her in disrespectful ways she could not fathom. Made her anticipate this for all the wrong reasons. And then, when another more ethically enticing opportunity came up for them all, he'd turned on the rest of the Round-Up Gang and derided her completely. Even after all that time, he'd betrayed her blindly. Just like _that._

She'd trusted him as everything as the messiah to her woeful past - perhaps thinking even less sceptically of him than she had done with Woody, himself. And he'd broken that bond of conviction and reliance between them.

Now she didn't know how she'd be able to trust someone else again.

...

His world turned upside down - quite literally.

_Umph!_ Breath was being knocked out of him as vibes so fierce disrupted the calm all around him, breaking every ounce of silence and uneasy tranquillity as his face hit the interior structure of the case above his head. Abrupt weight rocketing through his head as his hands shot to his sides to keep himself steady as movement from the outside sent his nerves into chaotic discontent, he felt his gasp of hysteria catch in his throat. Once the lump had passed, the confirmation of what was happening began to tug at his inner knowledge making him feel nauseous.

_Time already?_ Surely it mustn't be? Time to continue his journey he had no control over in the slightest? It couldn't be - not now. Not when his thoughts were still at carnage in his mind, threatening to intoxicate the purity of his morals once set on being the best he could for his child; where his paranoia was still fluctuating between who was to blame for this and who was truly innocent at heart. He still needed the time to think everything through: How they could escape from the museum once they got there if he couldn't find an opportunity beforehand; how he'd deal with Pete or even how he'd get to the airport to board a plane right back to his life with Andy.

He hadn't thought anything through, much to his disbelief. Hours must've been spent trapped here if the plane had landed and the cases were being handled with already, but yet the darkness surrounding and encapsulating his every thought and movement like a shadow stalking its next target had trapped his mind under subdue all that time and he'd never been able to locate a single moment to be at peace with his conscience since the plane had taken off. His entire mind had gone haywire, trying to reason with himself that this wouldn't be it. That he'd make it through in the end and get back home where he truly belonged. But his thoughts were rushing about inside his head and he couldn't make enough sense of them to formulate a plan that could help him through the hours to come.

Vulnerability of the worst sort started to cloud his sentiments, draining him of his bearings to the world around him as it shook. It was a feeling like no other he'd experienced before - apart from perhaps when he'd been trapped in Sid's home awaiting a fate that would most likely lead to his abound annihilation. Subtle movements from the outside sprouted and magnified violently jolting him suddenly to the side. He winced when his face hit the case's side, leaving him again at a loss for desirable breath as they continued on their journey.

And Al was waiting eagerly, like a sly courageous vulture anticipating a catch of the day as it soared, to claim his prize

...

"Are you sure you'll be all right on your own, Buzz?" The Space Ranger turned on his heels, startled slightly by the sudden disruption to his thoughts. A rustle of coils and the evidence Buzz's vision sought identified the speaker immediately as none-more than Slinky - the only one who'd seemed heartedly compliant with his intended course of actions. "Japan's an awfully long way away to go on your own."

Buzz paused for a moment, trying to think up of some reasonable explanation. In all fairness it was almost nearly impossible. There was no true way he could explain in words why he was up for travelling half-way across the world towards a chance that was svelte and was being cut of its leniency with every second that passed. Buzz knew the procedure inside out now from his hours of endless thought and clarification, but there was every little bit of a chance of having this all go terribly wrong. What if he can't locate the museum on the way there? Or, even worse, what would happen if something happened to him on his venture? What would happen then? Andy would be absolutely distraught-

A breath was quickly inhaled and Buzz wiped his face clear of any provocative display of emotion to purify the constant drone he had reeling on in his head. He deflated as he wiped away the cantankerous doubt away. "Of course I will be, Slink." He found himself saying, hoping to the rightful dictator of Star Command that the self-doubt he'd been feeling since the night before didn't shine through. It wasn't like him, he'd already concluded, to be so unsure about a situation he's literally designed to be on top of. He should be able to formulate a plan quickly, especially when Woody was at stake. Lose track of him, and Andy would possibly never get over it. Now, however, he felt completely and utterly useless, like this thoughts had just _stopped. _

But of course, he couldn't make that claim. Nothing _but _thinking seemed to preoccupy his time at the moment. Thoughts of all kinds were running deridingly through his mind, their trails long and cauterizing. How they might not succeed in this plan and how he may have just lost his best friend to some horrible ordeal he couldn't help him through.

"But we almost didn't make it to Al's as a group," Slinky drawled, his voice deflating and losing its energetic vibe. Buzz frowned at Slinky's choice of words, unsure of how he should react exactly. Someone had to find Woody and bring him back safely home. They couldn't all go, and Slinky knew this. And out of them all, Buzz was clearly the most eligible to make the journey. Even in spite of how brave a toy might be and how much strength their bodies may hold, Buzz doubted anyone could make it with a poorly versatile body. No matter how good of a condition they might be in. "Are you really sure you can manage on your own?"

He stopped a few moments, his mind seemingly far off in some peculiar wander. "As I informed the rest of the group before, Slink, only one of us can go on a search for Woody." He quickly flitted his eyes around the room, making sure no-one was over-hearing their conversation. The Space Ranger double-checked just to be sure and hushed his voice to a low whisper. "And I'm never going to be confident leaving someone like Potato Head or Hamm to do it." Slinky could reason with this of course. Hamm was, pedantically speaking, a very feeble as a piggy-bank and could easily break at even the smallest of falls. And Potato-Head - well - neither of them were sure if he'd ever have determination enough to drag himself halfway across the world.

Still, though, Slinky didn't know how Buzz would be able to manage on his own. Sure, he was the most persistant toy he knew, but there was always only so far a toy could go without breaking some unspoken truth. And Slinky was beginning to come to terms with this as time passed leading to Buzz's departure.

"And besides," Buzz continued, trying his best at an encouraging smile to lighten the slinky dog's spirits. He knew exactly what Slinky had been thinking, and the coiled dog stepped back with ears slightly lowered in response to this knowledge. "We need someone to keep the rest of them in shape until we get back."

Slinky jolted his head to Buzz. "Really?" He asked, flabbergasted. "You want me to be in charge?"

A smirk bombarded the gentle curve to the Space Ranger's jaw-line. "Of course I do." Buzz was confident, more so than he'd been the night before when he'd had an army of faces to question his word. "I can't think of anyone better for the job."

Buzz looked around in careful scrutinisation. Any moment now his cue would be called to finally make the first step on his journey and he'd leave Andy behind whilst he searched for Woody in a country so vast and large so far away from where he was. It would be when Ms. Davis makes today's daily visit to the supermarket with her two children that he'd start on his way. Slyly creep into their home vehicle and then sneak out once they've entered the store and pace those last seven blocks to the airport Hamm had located on the map. Then he could board the 16:00 flight to Tokyo, Japan and find his way to the museum from there.

"Come on, Molly." A voice was heard from the hallway, just behind the closed door that made Andy's room where the child slumbered peacefully, finally recovering from the shock he'd faced the night before over Woody's sudden disappearance. Buzz felt his breath trap in his throat, holding a hand up to keep Slinky silent. Wordlessly, they came to an agreement and Buzz signalled the rest of the room.

"Places everybody!" He exclaimed in a hushed whisper, barely loud enough to capture the attentions of the rest of the toys. "And hurry!"

"It's time to wake your brother up." The toys had just settled into their positions by the time the door to Andy's room had been opened.

And then Buzz soon sought his opportunity.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Team Cowboy.**_

**Chapter Four.**

~X~X~X~

A breathless wander off into the middle of nowhere, straight into silent oblivion. Buzz knew this would only arise from his venture to the other side of the world. Where Woody was bound to arrive with little hopes of returning back past the menacing Prospector Pete and where Buzz would have to fight against fate to find him and bring him back home. A place where directions to follow were a whole different kettle of fish.

An artificial laser of light and photons to his chest. This would only hit Buzz Lightyear if something stopped him from bringing his best friend back into safety, where Andy's spirit would crumble apart like falling dominoes lining up together to make a bigger picture so majestic to the distant observer. It would hit him and crash right through him, breaking him into his small plastic pieces to make him incomplete. Surely unfixable against shattered hopes and spirits. He didn't see how he could overcome this if he failed -

A stylish drop hurtling towards the ground with no form of levetation to break his fall. Buzz Lightyear would only fall. Straight down into bowels of a pit unknown, where darkness brewed and desolation lingered. So tall and seamless, Buzz did not know the odds. He could fall on and on - just simply accepting his impulsive destiny with open arms as his wings failed to beat - or he could drop and touch the ground with heavy grace, where his body would break into a million pieces. Only these outcomes will ensue from a failed mission. If he lost his best friend now - if Woody could not reach for the sky one last time - then all would be hopeless.

An infinity with no beyond.

Time just seemed to 'stop' as he clung onto the underside of Ms. Davis' car in hopes it would lead him a step closer to boarding the plane heading straight to Japan, palms shaking vigorously as the heat and the fumes entangled with his weakening senses. Rich and wretched stenches of gas and bitter exhaust fumes filled his senses with a sheathing embrace. It clouded his thoughts leaving him dazed as his mind did cartwheels at the rushing air hitting his body all over.

This was a stupid decision! A mental exclamation began to burden his thoughts as his grip tightened onto the pipes forming a complex section of the vehicle's churning stomach. A sudden butter taste of decaying elements washed over him again. The thick aroma clogging up his lungs brought his thoughts back over to a decision he'd made barely five minutes before. Ms. Davis' car had been there right in front of him as he made his way across the porch the drive, just moments away from taking away on its trip, a chance readily available for him to take.

But this hadn't been the case. He'd decided to go under and not into the vehicle, making the most ridiculous mistake he could've made in that kind of mental pressure. He felt patronised.

Nothing smelled more abhorrent than a combination of rusty steel and gas.

The Space Ranger shook his head, trying to make sense of his thoughts as he clung to the wedge between the under-pipes. Buzz Lightyear was not sure about this. About the path to take that would lead to the place his best friend was trapped - where the one heart that taught him of the true values in life could be beating in its synthetic hold of wisdom and experience. Even from this angle, any path handed to him looked just as unfavourable at the next, both leading off in completely different directions. Hot to cold - simmering to blazing - or just from a diabolical route to contemplate and another one worse off.

He could take the plane; that, he was very certain of. But who was to guarantee it wouldn't fall into the oceans once it took off? Who was to even begin to make certain - if there was actually someone wise enough out there with inner knowledge to prove it - that Woody and the rest of the Round-Up Gang would even arrive there safely? That he'd, himself, arrive there in one piece, or even take off on his next quest at all?

There was no-one. Therefore, Buzz had little hope. He knew no soothsayer or being with a clairvoyant sentiment to guarantee his failure or success in his venture. If there was anything out there wise enough, then it was something purely out of his logic - his built-in knowledge of how the world works. Of how there would be no-one to play God for him where he was going and of how unpredictable life can be for those ill-equipped minds who just don't expect things coming.

His inner knowledge could not fathom such philosophy.

How long had passed? A minute? Five minute? Ten? It was impossible for him to tell, the wind from the travel too provocative to his thoughts. All he could feel now was the revving engine beginning to turn and the air swerving his mind in all sorts of directions. And then felt the vibrations in the rusty metal come to a still as few moments after the crumpled road-works changed in their texture and turned into wrecked cobblestone. The ground always changed when Ms. Davis made the turn from the road into the car-park, so Buzz trusted his waking instinct that now was his right time, and that no-one else was near to catch him in the act of merely being alive, and started at his mental countdown.

_Five…_ The car was slowing down. He could feel it in the wind and smell it in the gas. _Four…_ He just had to be ready. Prepare himself for this, then he can charge away within instants behind the massive stack of shopping trolleys and be done with it._ Three…_ Life was to come to a still at any moment now. It would stop and then he'd manoeuvre himself away from sight with careful grace. _Two…_ He could taste it in the fumes now.

_**One!**_ Much to his surprise, the vehicle gave way. Crunching stones underneath tires were his signal to embark forward.

And so he let go, landing easily on his heels. Only for the car to turn immediately and exit the car-park without a moment's notice.

Gasping, he was halted in his tracks shortly, completely taken aback before he felt embedded initiative guide him to the underside of a rotund SUV reflecting the colour of the dying skies. Ms. Davis had left later that day with her children than he'd predicted, and was forced to take cover for several hours whilst she got her children ready and made lunch for them all, which was promptly followed by a lasting temper tantrum from a very aggravated Molly who obviously thought there was something better to do on a Monday afternoon than have to go out on yet another boring shopping trip. So by the time she'd left her house, it was gone three in the afternoon and now it was approaching four.

And Buzz Lightyear honestly didn't know where he was at this time. The quick inspection of the surroundings proved that he was not where he'd thought he'd be. Ms. Davis was supposed to go to a supermarket a few blocks down from Al's Toy Barn, but judging from what was around him he wasn't even there at all. No where near where he'd thought he'd be, in fact. As his brief scrutiny of the area around him before had told him he was currently at a completely different place.

For he should be at the supermarket not that far away from Al's apartment building, where he'd hidden a kidnapped Woody no less than twenty-four hours before, but he wasn't anywhere near there.

He was in the car-park of the town's shopping mall. At the other side of town.

...

"You're going to be stars!"

The case was opened suddenly, and strong beams of light washing in fumbled over the first few sets of the Round Up Gang. From the corner of his eye, Pete lay in his box, completely untouched as he'd seemed before.

_That lying cheat!-_

"Oh, I can't believe this is happening!" A narcissistic Al unpacked the main items of his set, carefully lifting up the star of the show from his hold of foam and mutual understanding of the times lying ahead and placing him gently down on his hotel room bed before working on the rest. As the other three were removed from the case, they caught glances of the room around them and instantly concluded that it did not bear any traditional values of the country they were in, much to their surprise. Though not to such a great extent as Al had never been one to keep living conditions at a high sentimental level, no matter who he was mentoring towards fame, stardom and extreme loneliness from the rest of toy society. It was a traditional hotel room: Small, cramped, and smelling of some sanitizer that didn't work too well on the room service the previous guests had ordered form last week. "It seems only yesterday I started collecting the collection ten years ago!"

_More like a hundred,_ Jessie wanted to roll her eyes, but if she did she'd be breaking so many rules the conceived result occurring from it would be unpredictable. That risk was one she could not take, so kept her face still - completely emotionless behind her frontage of a blistering smile and glittering eyes. "In just a few hours, I'm going to be rich, baby!" A fist thrown into the air signified his joy

_What a waste-_

"Oh, I just have to get some more pictures of you all to show to all my workers!" Al exclaimed, his filthy, gorging eyes pulsing in anticipation. He slapped his hands together, his cracked lips pursing into the biggest smile known to mankind. "And they thought I wouldn't make it! Boy are they going to be sorry."

The chicken man grinned, moving back from the bed and out of their lines of sight. Clashing of objects cascading together ignited in the depths of their hearing, and fear began to rise within the hearts of the vulnerable. Pete, however, knew Al's shenanigans would bring dire amounts of prepayment for the museum, so let any precaution in him subside.

To Woody's right, Jessie and Bullseye lay together in a disorganized heap, animated smiles pursing at their lips. For moments he paused in his tension, wondering about how the two were adjusting to the loss of darkness and claustrophobia. Were they grateful? Or were they feeling downhearted knowing that they were so close to their polished glass displayed? He didn't know the answer to any of the questions. Their miens were expressionless behind their painted façades.

The silence was abandoned. "Oh, I just can't believe it!" He pulled the camera from the rest of his set, ready to position the collectibles for their first official taster of a life to embark in the limelight.

…

Buzz paced his way up the block on fast feet, his alert senses eloping tersely with his surroundings. His eyes trained on the pathway ahead of him, he spotted a shroud of bushes on the sidewalk to his left and diverted himself towards it, diving into its cover. The breath was knocked out of him at the impact, but he resiled promptly, daring not to waste any more time than he already had.

He scanned his surroundings, his eyes scrutinising what was around him in search for any familiar signs: Anything that would give him an indication as to where he could be in the city.

But he found nothing. No signs. No hope. And it stayed this way until at least morning.

Ostentatious silence smouthered his thoughts with an ambient grasp.

…

"I've got everything!" A mad voice proclaimed with breathless anticipation over the pretentious commotion inside the case over everything on the outside coming to an abrupt stop. "Every last piece of the set!" From the way their bulging escort was panting heavily like a rabid dog under the surging sun's pernicuous tenure, it was obvious that a smidge of physical discharge had completely stolen his voice. "I - I have it all!"

A moment of silence. The Round-Up Gang had no idea what could wait on the other side- "Excuse me, sir?" Even trapped like cantankerous beasts inside this case, they could hear the high-pitched voice and were instantly able to identify the speaker as being female. But still the accent to the tone was not there behind the muffles their barrier to the outside world forged. They could be anywhere, for all they knew.

But they already knew better. They were only going to be here and, this, they were absolutely sure of.

"I've got the set! Just like Mr. Konishi wanted!" The case thrust forward suddenly as he displayed the trolley of collectible. Inside it, havoc spread at the sudden disruption to motion. "Every last bit!" Al was breathless at the anticipation filling up within him. After all that time waiting and searching for the last pieces to his set, he'd finally found them and now he was at last up to standing his own fifteen minutes in the limelight! Now that he's finally made it, Woody and the rest of the Gang knew he wasn't going to give up on his chance or triumph so easily. It would be completely out of his character to do so and it was blatantly clear that Al was not going to miss out on his instant fortune to his set.

Now that would just be completely unlike him.

"Excuse me?" The woman asked again, her voice sounding muffled from where the toys were inside the case like she was trying to speak through cardboard and a very fine layer of some airy substance. A moment of quiet stilled. "Sir?"

"Oh, just get me Mr. Konishi!" Al retorted, his voice shaking with a hazard of snapping. A startled gasp of the woman ignited. "And be quick about it! This is important business! I will not have anything screw it up! Do you hear me?"

And then the pieces of the waiting game began to fall into place.

...

"Ah! Mr. Konishi!" Al staggered over towards the grey-suited business-man, pulling off the biggest smile his greasy face could offer when Konishi rotated his head in the buffered man's direction. "How wonderful it is to see you!" Al raised a hand in the air in solicitous greeting, almost tripping over the trolley of cases and boxes as he guided them forward.

Mr. Konishi held a hand clutching a silver cell-phone to his ear, his dark eyes now flitting in scrutinizing ostentation over Al's excessively uncoordinated frontage. He studied the man for a few moments, almost contemplating over whether this blundering fool was actually the one he'd heard over the phone promising his exhibits customers and profits, before he dismissed the thoughts. The mobile device was snapped shut in his hand. A few moments of patient anticipation were wasted as Al trotted his way over, struggling dejectedly with his belongings. "Mr. Konishi!"

The manager lifted an eyebrow, "Yes?"

"I have the set!" Al halted in his steps, completely at a loss of breath. Panting his energy back, he raised a hand in the air to signify his foreboding recovery. "Every last piece of it! It's all here!"

A further study, and then the manager became complacent with what he saw. A smile ripped across his withered face, wrinkled and dry with the signs of dying age. "Ah, McWhiggan!" He slapped his palms together in eager anticipation, the sly grin unmoving. "Just the man I wanted!" Mr. Konishi beckoned the younger man closer to him with his cutting sienna eyes, spreading his hands once more in greeting. The top-of-the-chart cell-phone in his hands glistened intently, eager to relish in limelight. "I take it you have everything?"

"Every last bit!" Al felt gratitude towards the man he'd only just met. Finally - for once in his dirty, _rotten _life - he could get what he really deserved: Recognition and assuagement from a falling life. "It's all here. Just as you requested."

Smirk widening, Konishi directed his eyes towards the exit, where tunnels and cross-roads of interlinking hallways led on to the rest of the museum. "Come," He ushed. "I'll show you where the collection is to be displayed."

Al felt the anticipation within him soar through the roof. He still couldn't believe it!

He was going to be _rich._


	5. Chapter 5

**_Team Cowboy._**

**Chapter Five**

~X~X~X~

The young boy meandered aimlessly around his bedroom, his cerulean eyes holding the exact hue of human tenderness that spilled from the street-lights on this lazy night. An Eve dying into Twilight began to amble the horizon's massive stretch into lands' unknown far beyond his neighbourhood, as daunting as the fall of hope. Every so often he would turn his muse to the path of sultry lavender in the skies, his echoing thoughts concentrating on nothing just to spare the pain of_ Something_.

He was eyed from his possessions as he paced the swath of his room between his bed and the window, as he thought and through intervals within thoughts in which he plonked down on his bed to contain the unexplained ire building up within him. His thoughts were starting to drift from several readings in his mind, starting as plain-and-simply _bored_ and halting at complete-and-utter despair over the apparent loss of yet another one of his toys.

Andy Davis stood up from his place on the bed, deciding once again to check his toy box to re-nsure that the Space toy had not been misplaced. But he still wasn't_ there_. Wherever Buzz might be, he wasn't with Andy.

"Oh, I just know I put him_ somewhere._" Trouble was, with this perspective on the situation, he had no idea where. "I swear I saw him just this morning." The murmurs-to-himself proceeded on for another good ten minutes before he finally decided to give up on that night.

The unexplained depression ensued, and the rest of his toys could only watch. Gaze upon the small boy as he felt his spirits come to pieces at the loss of both his favourite toys.

…

"And here, Mister McWhiggan, is your display area," started the manager, gesturing with his hands the half-section of the vast room in which the Woody's Round-Up collection was to be displayed.

The Chicken Man nodded, not really paying attention to what Konishi was saying but knowing he ought to nod in agreement. "Uh huh."

"And over this side, not that you should take notice," said Konishi, pointing towards another exhibit in the room's other half."Is our complete original collection of artefacts from the dated years of _Space to the Max_, a show which is still running on even today-"

Al scoffed, "What makes that show unique?" he asked, scrutinizing the pathetic set.

Konishi was keen to spread his knowledge, "It was the first children's sci-fi to star a female lead."

"_Really_?" asked Al with little respect for his potential client. "What an accomplishment."

A chortle from Konishi, "Maybe with time, Woody's Round-Up will become a big success and compare to them?"

"I highly doubt it." Remarked Al. "After all, what can compete with Woody's Roundup?"

...

"You god-darnit, _good-for nothin'_ backstabber." Vexed beyond all realms of physical comprehension even after they'd spent a good deal of time in their display unit, the redheaded cowgirl threw herself with all her strength towards the boxed Prospector ready to tear him to pieces. She might've managed it, had it not been for Woody's interference.

His arms went around her waist as fast as lightning. "Hold on there, Jess." Clearly, Jessie had a better idea in mind as she still kept her eyes trained securely on her target, ready to rip the backstabber apart limb-from-limb. "We just need to-"

"We?" She exclaimed like that terminology was the worst personal insult he could've uttered. "There's no _we_ in this, Woody!" When the venom touched her voice, Woody made sure to hold onto her extra hard so she wouldn't destroy something she'd later regret - preferably _someone_. "He's a no good-timin' son-of-a-gun." She just about managed to jab a harsh thumb over towards him, but the Prospector took no personal offence to that. "Do you honestly have the nerve-"

Woody ushered her silence by gesturing wildly with his hands. "Will you just listen for once?" Jessie's glower was cold, but she said nothing as she crossed her arms. "We not going to get anywhere by fighting! If we're ever going to get outta here, we need to think of a strategy together - as a _team_."

Jessie scoffed, idly with abhor, "Good luck with that."

The Prospector nodded his agreement. "That's 'bout the worst excuse for an idea I've ever heard," he shuffled his box to the side, facing away from them. "Besides, I like it here. What would make you think I'd want to leave?"

Teeth grit, Woody spat, "I _wasn't_ talking to you."

"Fine!" Stinky Pete retaliated. "I never wanted to be 'part of your nonsense-talk anyway."

The Sheriff shook his head, averting his eyes to the velvet curtains concealing this section of the room, wondering who the toys far behind it may be.

_Everyday,_ the Sheriff thought bitterly, rolling his eyes,_ everyday I'm going to have to deal with this, until we get out of here.  
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_…_

The gorging eyes sought them out from behind the restrictions of velvet rope and glittering glass, staring at the collection like a group of mad, giggling hyenas lost in the depths of the savannah fawning on easy prey waiting to take their share of the prized piece.

Blaring lights. Flickering shots everywhere. Cornering their vision, breaking into their eyes, filling their ears with the constant _clickedy-click-click_ of privilaged devices which made no sense to them. First there were two adults, tourists of similar ages, pointing out the wonders of this valuable collector's set, reminiscing on their own childhood's where _Woody's Roundup_ was the most popular show running to the rest of their small family. Then, the flash of a camera ignited and they turned, their eyes growing wide by the site of the Space Exhibit across from them.

The words, so many, flooded into his head, all at once. A cascading rivers of do's and don't's - of upsurging up's and dipping down's...

_-Once the astronauts went up, children only wanted to play with_** Space **_toys-_

He had to stop in his thought, just to keep himself from thinking about it.

More lights! _More people_. Next, a local school-group was herded in by a small group of adults. Some carried notebooks in their hands eager to take notes to go home and show their parents, whereas the rest - the majority - of students picked at their nails, whilst some had hoods thrown over their heads deviously listening to their headphones or looked to the distance, waiting for the time to pass...

One child turned to them before the others. "Look!" The shrill child proclaimed, a tiny hand shooting into the air. From this angle, it was impossible to distinguish this child from the rest of the flock.

_There's no point-_

"It's a cowboy!"

"My Mummy used to watch this show." A tired voice hollered above the noise of everyone else. Again, the speaker was completely anonymous. "And it was _boring._" Numerous responses of approval, a few of fluctuating dispute, and then the flash of cameras from the teachers - wanting to hold the memory in images for anyone and everyone else to share the wonder. The collectible fortune so lost in time difficulty arose trying to decipher the general opinions of the public. A few more murmurs of awe, several huffs of '_I've seen better'_ and then some more of '_They're so old!'_ followed promptly by a deep gasp of astonishment.

"Are they space toys?" Another child asked in disbelief, yet again just a figment of the spreading crowd heading towards the far end of the room, where the Sci-Fi exhibit was perched. One last flash of the camera, and then the Space Exhibit got yet another bout of bedazzle-time in the limelight

This schedule proceeded on for hours. Children and adults of all ages passed in and out of the large exhibit, bringing forth a completely fresh mien every time one group entered and another left. Some tourists would come on tour guides and would be told of how 'Woody's Roundup' had been a great success back in the old days and of the background to the show.

The Sheriff learned a great many things about himself that day. Firstly: he _hated_ crowds. But then, still, there was a great deal more left to tell. Sheriff Woody was a character created by an ancient Arnold Crosby who'd invented the show on a whim when browsing through his father's old stack of Colt firearms back from the days in the old West. Intentionally, derived from the snippets of information on boards all over this half-section of the exhibit, Sheriff Woody was to be an arrogant character with a vain personality. The idea, however, was soon altered to appeal to their Target Audience, where everybody needed a hero - and, apparently, one with a heroine to call a Love Interest.

As the hours passed, Woody's mind went agape at the thought. Children looked at him with their eyes shining in joy at such marvellous wonders, before diverging their eyes to the brilliant space exhibit just across from them, but yet Woody felt no warmth from their happiness. With his thoughts reeling on his despair at being parted from Andy and the distraction to which brought forward the contemplation of he and Jessie being Love Interests in the show, the blazing museum lights lost their hue of brilliance and favour in his mind. Irony welled everywhere, but yet he would have none of it.

This was torture.

…

Breathless grasps of waking sunlight irked at the city streets putting the fragile night to bed once the darkness had succumb to the hands of the rising day. Buzz Lightyear saw in the skies from early on what it was like to watch the dark fade into the light. Keeping awake the whole time as to not waste a single moment when the light returned, he had to admire how breathtaking the Wake of Day was.

It starts off so gently, no more than a touch of radiance, then it blossoms over the hours and turns into a day which will never be completely forgotten. It was a marvelous sight, the onset of dawn proving to be his chance to carry forward.

The Space Ranger trudged on through the heavy bouts of sunlight, itching and pecking heavily at his parts, following his directions carefully to make sure he arrived at the airport in time. For if there is a light to guide you on the way through the dark, there is hope for a better tomorrow.

…

"Space toys?" For the fifth time since the end to that day had passed, the Prospector uttered his abhor to the circumstances.

_Not again._ That voice was picking at his patience, the very burden to his thoughts. A blistering iron to the gentle ripples of a lake. Similar to the sound of a child crying themselves to sleep; yes, like that. Only, Woody cared very little for this crier. Woody looked to Pete again, deflating with his sigh like he ought not to be there. I should be with Andy!

"_**Space toys?**_" His insides began to plummet. Pete was in his box, staring pointlessly ahead at their competition with a snarl. "I can't believe this!" Woody let his breath go again, this time chucking out of him like there was something better to do with his time than listen to Pete rant _on and on_ about something he didn't give two horse-shoes about. "Just our luck!" _-and we've heard this all before-_ "Why did they have to put us up against 'em?" Woody didn't want to listen to any of this, so pressed the palms of his hands to his ears and sighed deeply. "They ought to know by now that Space Toys always win! Oh, call the tarnation! That ain't fair!" Pete ranted on and on in some breaking fit of rage. Woody plugged his fingers right into his ears, finding cohesiveness to the paint on his boots to be most fascinating. "How can this be justified?"

A sigh from somewhere not too far back in the distance, Woody heard a groan creep past his barrier. He turned his head, just slightly towards her, and felt everything in his Heart of Stuffing ache for her. Even bringing himself to imagine the circumstances for her happened to be on the same level as imagining himself _never_ seeing Andy again, only the answer to the question for Jessie was incontrovertible. Emily'd made clear of her reluctance to deal with the collectible doll for keepsake the day she donated the toy. As for Andy - well, the chances were low because of him. It was his fault; he deserved this. Jessie, however, shouldn't have to deal with any of this.

In his ponder he barely noticed the absence of the whimpers from the corner, where Bullseye had been huddled scared out of his wits. Eyes showing great inquisitiveness, he looked to that same corner again to spot Bullseye shyly making his way over towards the cowgirl, sitting besides her and resting his head on her lap. She returned the look of his puppy-dog eyes with great melancholy, wishing no more but for this to be over for all of them. Bullseye was shaking now from the anxious pace his tail was wagging at, but was settled when Jessie lightly stroked his muzzle.

"There, there." She tried to soothe even though she needed the tranquillity in heart and mind herself. "It'll be okay, Bullseye."

Woody watched with dire weight to his eyes. Opening his ears to Pete again, he could only listen to him drawl on and on about their stupid competition. He wasn't finding any of Pete's opinions interesting, so found himself shutting off again to merely gaze with unpleasant ineptitude at the cowgirl and horse. This was _his_ fault. Had he been quicker - or even more convincing - they mightn't be in this mess they're trying to get themselves out of.

"Are you even listening to me?" The rising Nerves within Woody shook at the yell in his thoughts, feeling like his bones had just been rattled for hours on end.

He was listening now, but he didn't want to. "No."

Then he turned away from Pete, blocking the rest of the world out from him as he tossed himself to the side, falling into a heavy and sloppy sleep.

…

_Outside the window looking sleepily upon the early morning, the night began its peaceful descent into the Earth. "Yeehaw, cowboy!"_

_There was joy, simply by being held by his kid. "Hey, Buzz," he loved the sound of that voice, so cherished every last bit of it. "That mean ol' one-eyed-Bart has gone and taken Miss Peep in his big spaceship!" _ _The Indications of upcoming adventure, he loved to hear. "We have to stop him!"_

_Buzz Lightyear was quick in his thinking. Gifted by the svelt tactics a child's everlasting imagination. "I have just the idea, Sheriff!"  
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_A nod from the Sheriff. "At your lead, partner."  
><em>

Standing for more than he knew, oh he had been clueless. Heroes save the day - and Andy loved them. The boy preferred two, but can settle with _one._

_"Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!"  
><em>

_A haze misted in the adventure. He couldn't remember it clearly, neither could he recall much action. The typical scenerio of _'the-space-man-speaks-words!-let's-listen!' _which always won in the end. _

_The Pen over the Sword._

_"Oh, Sheriff!" Before he knew it, he was at this stage in the game. "You were so brave defeating one-eyed-Bart and his evil minions! I owe you my life!"_

_A small chortle."It's nothing, ma'am Just doing my-"  
><em>

_"Oh, my gosh - is that Buzz Lightyear?"  
><em>

_She, Bo Peep of the Sheep, loosened the embrace he so dearly cravely and departed from him. To somewhere unknown, where he knew exactly where she was at. The coldness of the air's touch chilled him, relishing on the desolation in his heart._

_He looked to his right.  
>He looked to his left.<br>_

_There was nothing there; yet, he could still hear everything and all he didn't want to hear. Bo frollicking over the Space Ranger's space-suit, the kindred hero thanking her politely for her comments, the giggle she made when the great Buzz Lightyear approved of her new hair-do.  
><em>

_A muscle tightened around his heart - nothing but stuffing that can be ripped and torn until there's nothing left. Games should make him feel alive; Games should bring him the adrenaline to believe in anything and everything. Yet, now he was struggling to accept that he was still toy. Even in this awful place.  
><em>

_"Woody?" Eager, he turned his head. Expecting half-heartedly a look of compassion. Again, there was nothing. He dropped his head, accepting his fate where he stood in his chasm of darkness. "Psst!"_

_His eyes shot open. "Yes?" tried Woody, but his voice refused to work with his will. "Hello?"  
><em>

_Turning, the Sheriff tremored into a drooping fall that killed his heart.  
><em>

_For plastic is always stronger than the stitching.  
><em>

...

"Psst." Woody tried not to groan when he felt himself awaken, just gently by a small tap on the shoulders and by the carry-on of the hushed voice. He recognized that one, he thought, but he didn't think he should. The thick southern taste to it just didn't quite fit one it should of Andy's room, instead falling into a category of persona so strange to him, didn't meet the criteria of memories that should be lathering inside his mind, congenial with his thoughts and loyalties. He shouldn't be hearing this voice from this toy of whom he shouldn't even know.

Woody's come to mind after living the unreal was woefully inadequate and he woke with a sigh, after having dreamt of being with Andy once more. That was why the voice sounded so foreign to him, perchance against fate to be hearing it. Jessie the Yodelling Cowgirl was _not_ a part of his life with Andy - and she never will be. The dream tore him between the fiction of his own creating and Reality; at home a thousand miles away; with his beloved sickened and surfeiting on nothing… One kind of separation that did things to a Toy's mind….

Woody would know - he's been parted from Andy before.

_Andy was his owner - he **needed** to be with **him.**_

"Pst, Woody?" The Sheriff turned to the sound of her voice, groggily. He didn't want to speak, but he guessed they had to sooner of later, to clean up this mess they've perched themselves into. "Woody?"

He looked at her, idly, "Yes?"

"I think the Space toys are trying to come over to us."

Woody's eyes went wide. "What?"

She risked one glance behind her, where she could hear the gentle talk in the distance, travelling closer by the second. He followed her gaze, contemplating, but there was nothing but the velvet curtains sheathing the display to behold. He glowered at her again, troubled as to why she would wake him up at a time like this. "There's nothing there."

She hushed him, her hand cutting off the offending noise. Taking his hand, she hauled the reluctant Woody over to the very edge of their display unit. Past the dispaly's prized background of saloon bars and school buildings to fix... "Just listen."

_Nothing,_ but the sound of their own breathing. "Jess, I really don't-"

"Just be quiet, will ya?" She sheathed his cry-hole with her hand, listening intently to something that _obviously-wasn't-there_. "I've heard them talking for a while, but they're coming closer."

He initiated his objection by grousing heavily into her hand. Jessie glowered at him.

"Did you hear about the 'Newbies'" came a voice, penetrating his thought. He turned his head, looking to Jessie in bewilderment. Then, he felt embarrassed. _Why is she always right…?_ He couldn't tell much of whom it belonged to, however, as it was so discreet he barely heard it at first, so listened closer.

"Oh, yes." This was closer and higher pitched than the first he'd heard. Footsteps were heading their way, but that was impossible. No-one was in the museum, and there's no way to get out of the display cases without a key. Unless, of course… "I heard they had a very successful day, surprisingly."

The frown on Woody's face cocked. "Do you think they know the way out of the cases, yet?" His emotions didn't _know_ which side of the scale they should settle on first. Eyebrows heaving, he pressed his ear to the glass.

"But there isn't a way out, is there?" he muttered under his breath.

"Of course they won't." _That_ was almost enough for him to depict the entire nature of said character. Almost at once, he could tell this one was female - quite the irksome one, too. Someone to give orders, boss others about. A role-model followers must adhere to. A _leader_. Someone like him, in charge and _one-lucky-soul-with-their-own-show._ "They're new, after all," the stranger said in a mocking tone. Woody frowned, tilting his head just slightly to Jessie who looked just as mystified. "I was the first and the only one to find out where it was."

A moment of silence, apart from the pit-pattering of small footsteps. "So you're going to show them the way out?"

The leader chortled, "I'll be nice and make their day."

Jessie scoffed at her side, her hands against the thin, and surprisingly not-sound-proof glass. "S'not like we ever wanted to be here in the first place," quarrelled Jessie, not so loudly. "We don't need nobody's help."

"Oh, that is such a nice thing for you to do, Maxine." Another, strangely feminine voice cooed, _the voices coming closer and closer._ "You see, Jill? That's why she's the star of our show." Woody perhaps imagined the scoff of another he heard afterwards. "She always has the interests of others at heart. Doesn't she, Bob?"

The cow folk duo briefly wondered how many parts there were to this group, until they heard something quite from the usual - _a bark_.

"Bob only takes your side because he's biased, _Phil_," came the first voice he'd heard before. Woody and Jessie listened in to their conversation, troubled at what-in-the-world they were going to do next. "If I had two bucks, I'd bet-"

"Pipe it down the both of you," intercepted the curt leader. "We need to give these _newbies _the blessing of our greeting."

A sharp breath came out of Jessie, one close to the premonition of one with an urge to rip the stuffing out of someone else. "Why - I'll show her a _greeting_," she scowled in ire. "We don't even wanna be here in the first darn place. Why would we want _their _help?"

"Jessie, shush," retaliated the Sheriff, disclosing his busy thought to descry what the space group was saying: There were several harsh comments of _pipe-it-down-wlll-ya_, and then some more. Woody concentrated, listening closely as the concoction of noices seemed to drift farther and farther away until he couldn't hear them at all. He frowned, _that's strange._

He wished he could look past those velvet curtains; to see what he should be expecting even when he'd done his best to block them from his thought the whole day, staring right at them but too far away to scrutinize them clearly through the crowds. He didn't know what to expect. All he knew was that the people _loved _them.

There was an amble confusion, "Woody - can you hear them anymore?" asked Jessie, frowning.

"No," he answered, slowly. "I don't think I can."

Stillness to the atmosphere made Jessie curious, pressing her ears to the glass in the hopes that there was still something there no matter how small it may be. There was nothing. "Where did they go?" she wondered, mainly to herself.

"I'm not sure," replied Woody, squinting through the missing light. "Could they be going back?"

"Wouldn't we hear them if they did?"

"You've got me."

With a dejected sigh, Woody turned around heading to where he'd been sleeping. Jessie watched his movements with a sad glint in her eyes. In her pause, she flitted her eyes carefully to Bullseye, twitching in his sleep to where Jessie had just been resting sleeplessly beside him, then to Pete, slumbering smugly in his box with his hands behind his head. She scowled briefly, then returned her gaze to Woody, carrying the great burden of loneliness she felt inside him, weighing her down.

She walked over to him, crouching against the glass, "You don't think we can get out of here, do you?" said Jessie, more of a statement than an innocent question. The frown he wore fluctuating, fluctuating lower and lower.

He lifted his arm testing the stitches, troubled in thought, "Oh, I don't know," Woody admitted as though defeated. "I've just been trying to think of a way to escape ever since Al had us in the suitcase," -Jessie swallowed a gulp- "but the more I think about it the harder it gets."

A sigh, "I know what you mean. It's like when you try to get yourself to stop feeling afraid of the dark. The more you think about it, the more you see that there can be anything there," he heard the frown to her voice, deflating. "I mean... Well, the more you think of something the more complicated it can become." She sighed, blinking. "When Emily gave me away-"

A small crash from behind them made them gasp, waking up the other two toys. In shock, their heads shot over following the source of the commotion. What they saw left them befuddled in their places.

"Oh, Phillip!" snapped an angry female voice. Jessie and Woody stepped back, eyes widened. "I told you to lift Jillian up - _not _drop her!"

"I'm sorry, Maxine." This one sounded even more feminine. "Jill was just a tad heavier than I expected."

An angry grunt filled the space when another one of the toys was lifted into the case from a gaping hatch none of the others had noticed before. "Why don't you shut up,_ Phillip_, and help Bob up here?"

The cowfolk were frozen in their silence, eyes agape at the sight. So _that_ was how one could escape.

"Oh, sheesh, Jill. Looks like someone woke up with a bad hair-day-"

"No, I did not!"

The first toy they'd seen clapped her hands, shutting them up. "Stop arguing and shut up! The newbies aren't getting a very good first impression of us." Another toy was lifted into the hatch - a very controlled dog who sat orderly waiting for the command of his master once up there. Then, Maxine (presumably the one which'd just spoken) hunkered down by the hatch and helped the final toy up: A man with a voice higher than a drunken mockingbird's.

Whilst Woody stood there unsure of what to do, he observed their outfits briefly. Maxine, a slender-sized toy with stringy golden hair which did wonders framing her face, wore a red and black space-suit with a special silver patch on the front to identify her significance and purple boots, holding a removable helmet in her hands. A perfect picture with a meaning to her name - what every toy would dream for. The odd-talking man, his set age perhaps in his thirties, wore the same clothing without the special patch but had head of hot-pink hair and was considerably taller than his partner.

_Well, they're definitely aiming towards a female target-audience,_ thought Woody awkwardly as he bit the inside of his lip. The one named Jillian, however, protruded in appearance like an dust on a book. She was dark-haired, holding eyes of the intellectual person scowling at the rest of humanity for their ignorance, dressed in an orange and black coverall with a communication device attatched to her left ear. Bob the Dog sat beside her, wearing red boots and an amber coloured suit with a helmet on his head.

Bullseye eyed that specimen, curious, before gesturing to Woody and Jessie to break them from their spell. Once the others had prepared themselves, Maxine turned to them and faked a winning smile.

"Hi, there," she greeted, stepping honourably towards them. "I'm Max, team captain of Team Astronauts, from the popular children's show _'Space to the Max'_," she held her free-hand out in offer to the Sheriff, "and I, along with my team, would like to wish you all an affectionate welcome to the Konishi Toy Museum."

Woody took her hand, incredulous. "I'm Woody, the Sheriff of Woody's Roundup."

"A Sheriff, did you say?"

"Uh...yeah."

She smiled, benevolently. "Well," started Maxine, taking her hand away from the handshake and pointing behind her. "This is Phil-" There was a gasp, then the scurrying of footfalls. Jessie about stepped back just as the pink-haired man reached for the end of her braid, eyes gorging in fascination.

"Is this braided?" asked Phil, the shrill to his voice now seemingly louder than it had been before. ""Oh, I really wish I could do that with my hair! And it's ginger!"

"It's not ginger!" The redheaded cowgirl defended, pacing some more distance between them, swatting his hand away feeling dumbfounded.

"Just ignore him," recommended Max, rolling her eyes. She leaned closer to Woody to announce, "He's gender-confused. Anyways, this is Bob," - she said, referring to the dog - "and this is Jillian, our trusted navigator."  
>Jillian made a half-hearted attempt to smile.<p>

Woody arched an eyebrow, "Is that all you came here for?"

"Now, don't be rude," Max started, curtly. "Tell us who you all are."

He hesitated, but continued anyway. "As I said, I'm Woody. This is Bullseye - this is Jessie," Woody said, pointing carelessly to the horse and cowgirl duo. "And this... This is _Pete_." He almost scoffed at the box, but stopped himself. "Now, is that all you came here for?"

"No," Max crossed her arms. "We also wanted to wish you all luck."

"Luck?" Pete repeated, speaking for the first time. "For what?"

"For our little _war-of-competition_," she took note in their expressions, feeling triumph inside. "Why? Do you not know?" The quiet spoke for itself. "The Museum has to cut off one of their exhibits, accordingly one in _this _sector."

Jessie looked at her, uncertain. "Wait, if they can't afford anything else, then why are accepting another collection into their museum?"

"Well, it's a long-story..." She went on, pacing slightly. "But, to keep it short, they want to add variation to their displays before cutting back. To allow the public to choose which theme they like the best."

Woody was nonchalant. "Well, that doesn't matter, anway. 'Cause we're getting out of here."

"But you can't!" came the voice of Jill, her eyes glimmering with an odd sense of superiority. "It's impossible."

He frowned, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you can't get out. None of us can. They seal the doors up at night, and they're our only chances of escape-"

"What about vent ducts?"

"They're all bolted tight." Jillian informed. "Believe me, sir. I've tried."

Warily, Jessie stepped forward, "So what happens if we're cut off?"

This was where Max's face turned sombre, almost as if contemplating her team's own slim chances of failure. "Well, that's where the problems lie."

Pete scoffed, turning around in his box, "What in the good-of-tarnation are you trying to say, you vile space toy?"

"If either group fails," began the leader on a serious, hard-hearted note. "It's a trip straight down to the dumps."


	6. Chapter 6

**_Team Cowboy._**

**Chapter Six**

~X~X~X~

Woody stepped back as the words hammered down on his heart. He blinked, opening his eyes and looking to Max in incredulity, "What?" he tried, his voice not quite reaching the tip of his tongue. He anchored his head back to Jessie and Bullseye, his eyes speaking the langauge of apprehension they had no chance of being able to understand.

There was a resonate twitch to his jaw as he met her eyes, shining like emeralds basking no sunlight. She mouthed to him, making sure she'd heard correctly, "Did she just...?" He nodded before she could continue, averting his ascertain gaze back to the space toy.

Max cocked an eyebrow, "Did you not hear me?" she probed, genuinely incredulous.

"No," started Woody, eventually as the discombobulated state subsided. "I heard you..."

"Then why did you ask?" questioned Maxine in a daze. "You seem to indicate that you didn't know."

Confused, Woody raised a cryptic eyebrow. _What? _"I don't think you-" just as he as about to say what was on his mind, it clicked somewhere that the leader of Team Astronauts was, in fact, a space toy. He shuffled back slightly with unease, his eyes lowering, "Doesn't matter."

_Are they all like this?_ A pause in his thought as he ingested the stares from those around him, then dropped his eyes again. _They're all mental. _At that thought, his recollection was brought back to where he'd faced the two Buzz's at Al's...

"Woody?" A soft voice said, just by his ear. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head, dismissing his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine, Jess." Curtly lifting his attention back to Maxine, he retaliated. "Is that all you came here for? To tell us we're done for?"

The dog barked at him, frightening Bullseye and startling Pete making him fall backwards in his box. Maxine snapped her head to the dog - a toy german-shepherd by the looks of it, but Woody couldn't tell - slapping the back of his head lightly to get him to shut up. Though she barely touched him, Bob hollered, "Snap it, Bob!" she scowled, slightly - though Woody knew she didn't mean any of it. "You don't bark at strangers."

_Perhaps she actually is- _"They might be intolerable, but being courteous is polite." _Oh, forget it._

Woody's eyebrows straightened at his frown, "Excuse-"

"Oh, well said, Max!" interrupted the falsetto voice, bleaching his ears. The pink-haired fellow gyrated around on his red heels, addressing the Navigator, "This is exactly what I was telling you about before: Max _deserves_ to be captain."

Jillian rolled her eyes, scoffing in the background.

With a shake of his head, the Sheriff said, "Excuse me, _Captain. _But what is this all about?" Max, startled, looked over to Woody and blinked.

"What is what supposed to be about?"

He rolled his eyes, "_This?_ This museum; the fact that _we'll be sent to the garbage dump!_ What is that all about?"

A lift of an eyebrow in her expression arrayed her catechized glance, one which saw no sense in the cowboy's confusion. "I distinctly recall telling you already, Sheriff. The group that ceases to win gets thrown away to the dump."

"Now, just 'ang on a sec!" came another, _excruciatingly painful _holler. Woody averted his eyes to Pete's box which had, deservedly, fallen over backwards at the space-dog's barking. "Just what is going on here?" asked an angered Pete, violently thrashing himself this-way-and-that to turn the box over. "We were s'posed to come all the way over here to be a'mired by children! Now yer tellin' us that we're going to be thrown away 'cause of you vile space-toys?"

Jillian stepped forward, hands entwined like she didn't know what to do with them. "Excuse me, if I might make my input, but we all should take into consideration the fact that there still remains to be a twenty-two percent chance that the Western set will triumph-" said the Navigator, nervously as though she ought not to be saying anything.

Jessie raised a questioning eyebrow, "Yeah? Why do ya say that?"

Stepping back slightly as to distance herself from the redhead, Jillian continued, subconsciously aware of the glower given to her by the Captain. "Well - there's no perjure to the fact that, by these day's standards, cowboys are quite obsolete."

Immediate ire crashed into Pete like a boulder dropped thousands of meters from the air, where the fresh air no longer caressed the lungs of the disillusioned man. Outraged, he impelled his box forward in the way a dog would holler and struggle against its cage, restricting natural impulsions to just run. Pete grimaced. "I said hold yer horses!" exclaimed the worn Prospector, his soft ice-like eyes penetrating those of Team Astronauts navigator. "Just what do you think you're talkin' about?"

"I was only-"

"Now, I will tell you what you insolent space toys need to know!" Pete warned, potently with a chubby index bobbing in her direction. "Cowboys were around far longer than any of you can breath! Why would children dare to undermine their significance?" Pete stressed, pointedly. As Woody and Jessie rolled their eyes at his antics, Pete began rooting through the drawers in his mind for any other pointers he could use in his protest. "In the show, Sheriff Woody," -Pete jabbed an awkward finger over in Woody's direction, almost toppling over in the process- "single-handedly locked the most dastardly outlaws up in a hoosegow for their entire lives!"

Max looked unimpressed, crossing her arms with a contemptuous stare.

"Ooh, ooh!" Woody bit his lips just as the toy with the hot-pink hair stepped into the scene. "Max defeated the Knave Monarch of Zone Nineteen, Port Eight with only a laser!"

Woody groaned, "I think I've heard this somewhere before." said the Sheriff, nonchalantly.

"Well - fine 'n sturdy Bullseye here can jump the Grand Canyon!"_ Oh, great. Way to make up nonsense._

"Bob can destroy asteroids with just his paw!"

Pete frowned, "Have you ever even watched the show?"

Phillip shook his head. "No - it's on the boards. The tour-guides say it."

The Sheriff folded his arms, apathetic but bewildered by the turn-out of this conversation. "Now, come on guys - stop with this argument. I'm sure that, if we all put our heads into it, we can think of a way to escape."

Max chortled, amused by his indolence to his logic. "Unfortunately for your team, Sheriff, we're not going to step down any time soon. The public loves us. Jillian's right, your show is nothing compared to us. After all, what child could want a silly old hat over a laser?" she probed, ingeniously, swirling on her heels like a glorified diva towards the hatching.

I hope someone gives her a nice pat on the back, thought Jessie, quite willing to shove the blonde-haired freak a few feet down to the ground.

"Well, I think what we came to say's been said," exalted the Captain, perching herself on the edge of the open hatch. "So we'll leave you for now and, hopefully have out little fun tomorrow?" Max departed on that note, dropping to the floor and landing on her feet with the finesse of a stealthy cat. Phil and Bob followed moments after, leaving Jillian to stand alone in the Western display unit with the aggravated cow folk.

She slowly turned her head to them, quite timidly, "I do apologize for her behaviour…" whispered the Navigator slowly as to not alert the rest of the space group. "All of us are second-hand, and she - well - she knows of someone who's escaped."

"Escaped?" inquired Woody, eyes cross-examining the words. "From where?"

Flitting her gaze down quickly to make sure she wasn't being overheard, she ushered, "From the dumps. According to the toy she met, it's almost impossible to escape."

Woody frowned, "Then how did her friend escape?"

"He got lucky," she finished, suggesting that someone else hadn't. "The garbage dump takes all the rubbish to the far end of the city. They pack their rubbish and trash into heaps and mountains - according to Maxine. Then, they burn everything."

With an incredulous expression, Jessie then recalled one of the nights Al had left his TV on. On and on, they'd gone, talking and informing the public of dangerous pollutants to the atmosphere. "But won't that cause pollution?"

Jill shrugged. "I'm only the navigator - I can't know everything."

Woody nodded in complete dismissal. "Well, thank you for your input, but we really need to prepare for tomorrow-"

"Jillian!" The toy named Jillian groaned, then made to the open hatch. She stared at the floor a few moments, contemplating. With one single good-bye, she lowered herself to the ground and was then out of their sight. The rest of them did not want to question the hatch leading down to the ground, for it only seemed to lead to a small section of the floor barricaded off by the wall disclosing their exhibit; that can wait.

Pete shifted his box towards the others. "Thank Lord that's over… I thought they'd never leave." Woody shot his head to Pete's direction, glowering.

"Pipe it, Pete." Woody snapped, dropping curtly to the base of the display case. "You've caused enough trouble as it is, already. As Pete tried to concoct a retaliation, Jessie consoled to an anxious Bullseye.

"Shh, it's okay, Bullseye." He was shaking, his hooves to his eyes as though still trying to hide the sights. "Nothing's going to happen," she cooed, stroking his mane with a gentle hand. "Did that mean dog scare you?"

Bullseye gave a timid nod.

"Well, he's gone now." Bullseye was shaking like he had the fever. "They won't be coming back."

The horse lowered his arms, his troubled chestnut eyes speaking the words Jessie was afraid to ask. But she comforted him however, though she knew differently inside. "We'll find a way out of all of this, Bullseye. I promise." she solaced, afraid he didn't believe her. "First thing when the rest of them are asleep tomorrow night, I'll check those vents. Okay?"

She was speaking in that voice that never failed to settle him, but the recollection of all their shouts was still reeling on and on inside his head. But he nodded, to show to Jessie that he was strong - that he can be his best for her.

"That's a good boy," congratulated the cowgirl, patting his muzzle.

...

Buzz waited impatiently, hidden behind a large brown suitcase a traveller had carelessly left on the pavement as he eyed his chances, deviously working out a plan in his head. He studied the entrance; with swaths of the building leading both right and left. A few metres away from the entrance, tourists and people waiting to be served in preparation for their holidays were gathered, far too many for Buzz to sneak in quietly.

Unless he...

A family of five passed him, three young children tagging alongside two adults all dragging heavy suitcases behind them as they proceeded to the entrance. Buzz eyed them, speculating his chances. He could wait for a chance to dart straight through the doors unseen, and risk being stolen from some arrivals heading from the airport - or he could follow them, and work out his plan from there…

Afraid to think twice in the case he missed the opening, his pressed the green button on his suit just as the smallest child was about to pass through the automatic doors. Just his voice box exclaimed "Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!", he dropped lifeless to the floor. The child stopped dead in their tracks, turning around to make sure they'd heard properly the famous catchphrase of a toy they knew of only so well.

The child couldn't have been that much older than Molly - a year or two older, perhaps - and when he turned with his bright sapphire eyes solicitous to track down the source of the noise, it was clear he still bore the perpetual fervour of a small puppy having opened its eyes to the world for the first time. A childhood innocence Buzz could tell was starting to dwindle in Andy, of curiosity and of endless anticipation. Looking back to the entrance, the boy made sure he wasn't too far behind the rest of his family before he looked left.

Jaw dropping, he exclaimed. "Buzz Lightyear!" He made to Buzz in a hurry, picking up the space-toy in his arms before hurrying back to the entrance and joining his parents.

_I hope this works…_

"Mummy! Daddy!" cried the little boy in joy, scampering over to the two adults on his small legs. "Look what I found!" Not only did he alert half the room's travellers, but he was also lucky enough to catch some very unwanted attention from both his brother and sister as well.

"A Buzz Lightyear!" asserted the older, and much taller, boy as his brother joined the grouping. Without another word, he reached out, snatching the space ranger from his grip. "Hand it here, Thomas!"

His bright blue eyes looked to the elder in distrait. "But, Timothy - it's mine! I found it!"

The two parents eventually cocked their heads to the side to confine the fuss their children were making in public. "Timothy! Thomas! Stop arguing this instant!" Their mother snapped, soon dropping her voice to a hastened whisper. "We're in public!"

Both children dropped their heads as if in disappointment. "Sorry, Mummy," mumured the two in unison, under their breath. The elder child named Timothy continued to appraise the toy in his hands, turning the Space Ranger over as he pressed the somewhat colossal red button on the Ranger's suit. Buzz's wide wingspan sprang to its extent making the boy drop the toy in shock; he hadn't quite expected it to be so fast...

"Timothy!" cried the younger boy. "You dropped it!"

The mother came forward and caught both the quarrelling children by the hand, ushering them away like a herd of sheep. "Well, don't pick it up." She demanded off of them, flitting her eyes to motion the younger girl to follow. "You don't know where it's been..." With a quick pull, she led the three children away from the entrance and near to their check-in points. "Vile toy."

Quickly so as to not waste time, the family departed leaving Buzz lying motionless there by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Buzz quickly shifted so he was on his side, facing the check-in areas. Behind the large counters displaying the conveyor belts in which customers would place their luggage on to then depart to security, a few clerks stood, kindly seeing to the customers. Above this on the wall, the words _Far East _were imprinted onto the building-work.

He sighed in relief; he was definitely at the right place. Once the quick sigh left him, he studied the surroundings, processing his thoughts through his still, inanimate eyes cueing the natural warmth of something so entranced. Just under the Far East name-brandishes, there were small screens bearing details of the scheduled times of arrival for each flight and approximate time of departure. Trouble was, from here, he had no idea what he should do next.

It was the open opportunity that taunted him, a restless plague. Buzz knew that if he could just get onto the conveyor belt and into the aircraft's cargo-hold, he'd be safe until the flight hit land in Tokyo, but that was where the predicament rested in the situation. The check-in points must be at least ten metres away from him, and he was almost in the open space in complete view. To even get there, he needed to scavenge his way into some unexpected person's luggage in the hopes that it would get him safely past the security and onto the plane.

Mentally leaping at the chance to calculate his chances, he deliberated the scenario once more keeping eye on the very little time he had. There were several families lined up in front of the check-in point for the Far East flight to board at approximately One-Thirty in an hour's time, including the one he'd only just encountered. Then, after taking note of which cases were appropriate for him to hide in, he used his resourcefulness to identify any possible advantages he could have in this situation.

One elderly couple stood a few metres away from him chatting away, occasionally turning their heads to glance at the 'Far East' check-in point Buzz was eyeing. Both were found besides reasonably sized suitcases, one decorated with flowers and the other the colour of navy-blue. He scrutinized this opportunity, eyeing his chances from afar. After a few watchful moments, he concluded they were definitely heading to the flight he was persevering to board.

He braced himself, then awaited his opportunity.

...

She studied her surroundings, taking note of them for the first time since entering. The she noted how the display case seemed to jut a few centimeters from the wall, leaving bombarding stands where all sorts of billboards and snippets of information on their show to collect in their half of the room. A single plain of glass cut through their space with little thought, their only connection to the outside world. She looked down, to see she was standing on glass, though she could still feel the unbearable four walls cave in around the niggardly four glass hedges. Yet, she could see the floor even behind the wall.

Lifting her eyes, she saw blatantly how the wall above the ceiling of glass suspended at least a few inches higher and lower than the display case they were in; perhaps, obviously to meet the requirements of any future collections once they're gone…

Jessie shook her head, knowing well she had to concentrate on the task. Making her way to the hatch the space toys had opened before, she knelt down by its edged and studied the flooring below. That's odd… The hatch didn't seem to lead to the ground, like she'd presumed, but instead a vent-like compartment that curved to the wall in front of her.

I thought she said the vents couldn't be opened… Jessie thought, quite incredulous. Absent-mindedly, her fingers trailed the fine edges of the glass, just catching the rim and lifting it up slightly. It creaked on the small hinges connecting the glass plane to the sides of their display case; something she hadn't noticed amongst the eternal bewilderment of entering this place. I really must've been distracted….

She had been; there was no denying that. The darkness she had succumb to inside Al's case had been her incessant melancholy for those long hours. She didn't know what had been happening, where she was, or how long she'd even been trapped in that nightmare for. In the quietude of that despicable desolation, there was no sense of time or any exploitation of natural bearings, for there was neither light nor sight in the dark-

"Jessie?" A voice behind her started. Jessie wasn't expecting that, so froze completely. "What are you doing?"

Slowly, as to not seem suspicious, she chivvied her head around to the source of the voice. "Sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln, Woody, don't startle me like that."

There he was, just standing there with his arms crossed and his head tilted towards the side in deep thought, as though he knew she were up to something he knew nothing of. A frown plastered onto his expression. "What are you planning to do? Test Jillian's theory about the tight vents and padlocked doors?"

Well, what do ya know? She sighed, making to her feet. "No," There's a lie if he's ever seen one. "I was just going to go for a walk."

"To test out her theory?" He cocked his frown to the side, unimpressed.

Jessie looked at him, blatantly. "I just said no, didn't I?"

A chortle, "You know I don't trust any of them, either, right?" he asked, as though he knew she knew the answer already - which she did, of course. There's enough sense in him to not trust the toys they'd just met; to not listen to the words of those who were ready to let them succumb to the Fates of the museum even when they knew of the horrors that would await. "I just didn't want to cause a fuss in front of Pete and Bullseye - especially with Pete the way he is."

Jessie frowned as though the thought of him saddened her. With a slow turn of her head towards the glass hatch, she lowered it slightly back and sighed. Her spirits seemed to deflate with that, and Woody noted this with a genuine regret.

She turned back towards him, with a burdened glint to her eye. "I really don't know what went wrong, Woody…" she admitted, truly vocalising her thoughts for the first time. "He used to be so…"

"Good-natured?"

A shake of the head, "No - it's not even just that." She told him, subconsciously finding the end of her yarn braid with her fingers. "When I first met him, he told me everything would be all right. He said I'd get over Emily eventually, and when the rest of the set was completely, we'd come to the museum to be loved by children for generations." She paused on a saddened note, swallowing the lump in her throat. "And I believed him. I believed that good-for-nothin' varmint when he said it'd be better for us -and now we're stuck here, waitin' to be thrown into the trash." With that, she balled her fists.

"I-I'm sorry this happened to you." Woody drawled, sadly at a loss of what to say. "I know you used to care for him."

She chortled, lightly. "Course I did," She said, simply. "I liked him just as much as I liked Emily's Pa. He really did make me feel better about it all." Groaning, she lowered her head and bit her lip. "I can't believe how stupid I was, falling for his lies."

Sighing with regret, she made to her feet lifting the hatch above her head again. "I need some air."

"I'll come with you-"

Jessie looked at him, nodding. "Okay - if you wanna." With that note, she dropped down to the vent duct below, the Sheriff following closely behind.

As they made their way to explore their surroundings, an agitated prospector turned restlessly in his box.

...

A haggard sound offended her hearing, right by her side. Cocking her head just slightly to the left, she sourced down the foul noise to the sleeping dog slumbering besides her. Cocooned in his own personal space, though completely violating hers, Bob rested with his legs tucked underneath him, snoring like a beast with a mouth full of soot.

_How pleasant._ Jillian scoffed lightly, turning over onto her side trying to take little notice of how late it must be - or of how long it would be until they had to be back in their positions for the day that lay ahead. Usually, they managed this with plenty of time to spare, often with good sixth-senses as to when security will arrive to check on the displays. Making sure everything was spick-and-span in the museum's exhibit, they would then depart to leave the rest of the day defenceless against the odds. But, recently however, personal paranoia had started to provoke her sleeping patterns. With the fluctuation, it became almost impossible to regain that level of clairvoyance to the humans.

Another snore ripped through the dog. _Oh, just pipe it!_ To articulate her abhor, she threw herself over onto her other side once more away from the offending noise, slapping her hands to her ears. The noise seemed predetermined to be her encumbrance, for it just became louder and more indecent with every minute that passed. _Even in his helmet! _she thought, disapprovingly. _He's like a wild animal._

She pressed her hands harder against her head, in the hopes it would shut the foul sound up so she could actually catch some sleep. _Someone should gag him. _Still, she managed to eventually block it out by applying the appropriate amount of pressure to her plastic skull. If she tried hard enough, she could actually condone the feel of her synthetic, matted hair.

Letting the sigh escape not so sure why she felt so frustrated, she made to her feel and meandered over to the other side of the _Space to the Max _exhibition. Along the way she passed the display's background set up of the space station she was all too familiar, crossing the majestic space-ship she always navigated on its course. Her own personal display stand stood only to the left before the ship, where she would stand motionless, _day after day - _watching the faces she'd never recall pass her by. It was a reminder of her daily life in this museum, where she was to spend the rest of it cooped like a hen staring motionless at the children that passed her by….

At first, Museum life had been her burden. She'd been located by a collector trying to hunt down every original segment of 'Space to the Max' he possibly could, and was quickly passed onto the museum along with the rest of the set as soon as he'd finished. The opportunity had seemed promising to her at first - the rejuvenation to her spirit - but quickly she had realized that it was all but that. With every face a child brought along, recollection of the one era in her life she was trying to forget came rushing back to her like a slap to the face…

Jillian shook her head, indifferent to the thought; she didn't need to think like that now. The future's brighter now than it had ever been before, something she'd never thought would ever happen. An impossibility it had once been nothing more; just the thought of waking to a brighter tomorrow.

With this haven of sentiment, she settled into herself and closed her eyes…

A trance of quiet overtook her just as she readied to drift into sleep, overwhelming her aching thoughts to succumb unto silence. Restive as she may be, she couldn't quiet barrier the line of slumber from wakefulness. The Navigator tossed to her side once more, trying not to think of what she persevered to forget. The thought was restless, and became just that bit more unbearable with every sigh that she made. Eventually, she had no choice but to succumb to the disquietude brewing inside her subconscious.

She sighed, knowing quite well that this discomfort wouldn't leave her on a whim; she had to walk it off….

Gently and quietly so as not to disturb the others, she lifted to her feet and brushed the dust off of her plastic-figurine body. Then, she checked around to make sure the rest were peacefully in their sleep. Max was curled on her side, her head resting on her clasped hands like the little sweet angel she was. Phillip was not to far away from the blonde, talking and murmuring in his sleep like the buffoon he tried not to be. Bob, in the meanwhile, lay snoring at Phil's feet in such a formal position Jillian wasn't too sure whether he was trying to ward the monster's away from Phil or not. With a scoff, she dismissed these thoughts and crept quietly over to their own personal hatch which led into a small duct directly underneath their display unit. In turn, this one of only two vents led to the rest of the exhibits, whereas the rest were certainly out of bounds.

Catching sight of the hatch often used as a devise strategically designed to allow passages of oxygen to pass into (and be restricted from) the display unit, she lifted the glass on the creaking hinges slightly above her head. Breathing hollowly, she dropped down into the floor of the vent and headed towards its exit. Complete darkness almost engulfed her, craving for more, but what little light there was in the museum room denoted the absence of what'd grown only to be a pest for her over the last few years allowing her to see what was ahead of her vaguely. _They must've kept the skylight open again…_she thought, as often the museum at night can be pitch black; something she had gotten used to. Turning on her heels, she headed towards the end of the vent and carefully, with needed finesse, she pushed the duct open.

It wasn't that bad tonight - before, it had only been evening outside leaving the engender of technology to pass through the streets and right through the skylight a good five meters above - so the obscurity of the surroundings would addle that last harbinger to her disquiet for the time being whilst she wandered around. Her head needed this clearing, otherwise she might just shove Max into a window the next time she complains about the new Western collection they have just over at the other side of the room.

_They're not that bad… _she was side-tracked by that thought in her mind. In her pondering, she was on her feet free from the display unit before she knew it, at the centre of the room. She looked around briefly; a routine-check she made always to be sure that no humans had furtively snaked their way into the exhibit without any of them being aware. Signs were secure; the night was still awake, and the security doors by both exits were electronically bolted.

She chortled, sure she was getting ahead of herself as per usual. Another few moments were spent in her little meander, her eyes occasionally flashing over to the curtain opposite the 'Space to the Max' display. It must've been tenuousness within her, that she couldn't bring her thoughts off them now she was free from the constant drone of Bob's snoring. She didn't know what it was, for she knew she should not pity them. Compassion shows weakness, if not vulnerability for survival, and if she starts feeling empathy towards them at this stage…

_It's one or the other, Jillian,_ she told herself, with her thoughts as stern as Max's tone after a bad day. _Either them, or you._She knew she had to make the choice, and she didn't want her life cut short.

With a shake of her head, she was about to turn when she heard something coming from over there. A few footsteps, quiet though unlike the humans, and then muffled voices. _They aren't…._she discarded this thoughts, and crossed over to the other end of the room to test her suspicion, slipping past the curtain.

She knitted her eyebrows, "Jessie?" The cowgirl stopped dead in her tracks, and slowly turned towards the space toy. Jillian crossed her eyes just slightly to her right, and spotted the Sheriff not so far away from the redhead. "Woody? What are you two doing here?"

Jessie didn't notice as she started messing with the ends of her braids, "Well… We could ask you the same thing, Jillian…"

"I asked you first." Said Jillian, with a cross of her arms. Jessie sighed at this, knowing quite too well of her own stalwart manners to overlook an attitude like this. Making to her side a couple of moments later, the Sheriff said,

"We just came outside for some air-" he fabricated.

"The air-temperatures are controlled in there to keep rust away."

A turn in his expression, before he added. "Jessie's claustrophobic." Puzzled, the redheaded cowgirl turned to him like he'd just said something wrong, glowering. He ignored it, and tried to think of quick comebacks should Jillian say anything else.

"There's enough space in there to fit a toy circus." Jillian retaliated, nonchalantly with an unchanged countenance. "Trust me, I should know."

Jessie cocked an eyebrow. "Then why are you out, if the displays are so perfect?"

Tilting her head to the side, Jillian chortled, "Bob snores," she said simply, scrutinizing the vent shaft they'd just gone past. "The quiet of the outside is better any day." Added Jillian, as though being out of the unit would ever make a difference. With a small laugh, she asked the question that was bothering her. "You wouldn't be trying to find a way out, would you?"

Woody and Jessie exchanged glances, certain they'd been caught in the act of sneaking around behind their backs. "No, not at all." Jessie said, firmly and slowly so as not to make it obvious that she'd really had the intent to snoop around, even after telling Woody she needed the air. "I just got a bit worried up...and Woody was helping me."

A smile crept onto Jillian's face, almost as though she knew something she ought not to. "You two definitely act like you're both pieces of the same set - but you act like you barely know each other."

He raised a questioning eyebrow, "That's because I was only just found."

"So your collector came here promptly?"

"Yes..." Woody said with an uncertain voice.

"And he didn't forget anything?" Jillian asked, seemingly inquisitive. "At all?"

"No," Jessie retaliated. "There's all the characters, and the other pieces in the set as well."

"But still nothing to suggest the romance the writers had planned?" She teased, complacent that she's got them now.

Jessie rolled her eyes, stepping forward though still embarrassed by what she'd heard the tour-guides tell the public before. "Okay - whataya playin' at?"

"Nothing," The Navigator replied, earnestly. "I was just curious. It's strange that the writers would pair you two up, and yet not release any products hinting at the romance. That was all that I was thinking."

"Are you trying to say the collection is incomplete?"

She smiled, turning around as she said. "Perchance, my friends - I'll leave you two to your lover's walk." Jillian said, scoffing silently to herself as she started to amble away.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Team Cowboy.**_

**Chapter Seven**

~X~X~X~

"Bo," a sigh came from behind her, soft and drawling out on the notes of compassion. A thought came to her from her pondering at the mysterious breeze carrying the dying summer's foliage flashing amber and auburn up the street. She began to contemplate that she'd been there for a while, gazing meekly out of the window to the passing life outside on this slothful cockcrow.

Another few moments pass before she turned, at last, to Slinky. From the look of it, he'd been standing behind her for a while, trying to decrypt what she's thinking, "Yes, Slinky?" She asked with a collected voice, unaware of how she was fiddling with the crook in her hands as she spoke.

"Try not ta' get too worried 'bout this," he advised calmly, his coil jiggling irksomely as he shuffled from side to side on his four feet. "His chances of coming back are as high as they'll get with Buzz on the case. Buzz knows what he's doing. And he's not gonna stop lookin' until Woody's found. You know that, right?"

Bo doesn't know if she does or not. She doesn't know Buzz that well, in all honestly (though she had kissed him once on the cheek in honour of Woody); just that he's a natural leader. That he can get himself out of situations - just as well as he can get himself into them…

"I do," Bo said simply, which is a lie of course, but Slinky spoke nothing of it. "I know…" She started to feel her voice catch in her throat, like she was honestly afraid to admit her worries. She knew well that Buzz was the most willing and able of them to venture such a distance to find their beloved cowboy and bring him back - Buzz wouldn't stop, just as Slinky had said - but her heart was being hammered by a heavy, sinking feeling she was all too unfamiliar with. What would happen? Would Buzz actually bring him back? What would happen then, if Buzz prospered? Bye-bye problems and _hello, sweetheart_?

Though she'd mentioned nothing of It, she's overheard Hamm and Potato-Head gossiping before to Mrs. Potato-Head of their travels, asserting of how magnificently courageous they had been with the dilemma they'd faced before at the Chicken Man's apartment. Mrs. Potato-Head had gasped palpably when they spoke of Woody's reluctance to come back to Andy's. Bo, herself, had been in such a state of shock she'd had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle the horrible choking sound her throat had been starting to make, unable to even fathom what she had heard.

Woody hadn't wanted to come back? She was perplexed at the thought, her tiny porcelain hands turned faster and faster around her crook. That hadn't made the smallest bit of sense to her before, but now that she was starting to calm down inside, the thought started to become more of a reality and less of an absurd notion than it had been before. Woody had wanted to go to the museum instead? He'd actually contemplated leaving his entire life behind - Andy, the gang, and…her - just to be watched behind glass?

_No, that can't be true. Woody loves Andy - he loves us all! _But she couldn't shake the paranoia from her mind. If the ideas hadn't been so real to her, she might've contemplated what Slinky had said to her with a lighter conscience.

Slinky noticed her silence long before she did. "Woody tried his best to get back here, y'know? He wanted to bring his new friends n' everythin'"

_His _new _friends... _Bo never did know why, but she regarded this notion with a pinch of salt.

She could've believed him; could've taken Slinky's words for granted and have felt a hell of a lot better about her self. But another side to her refused. A selfish side to her, she was sure. One that didn't want this note to go lightly. From what she'd heard from Hamm and Potato-Head, Woody had rather put his boot to the turf to not coming back. _How can he do this to me? _

Afraid of the answer to this question, she shook her head determined not to give in so easily. "I know. He wouldn't have done otherwise." An idea occurred to her as a spark to those last few words, and she turned swiftly around with regained confidence towards Andy's desk.

"Bo?" Asked Slinky. "What's wrong?"

Bo ignored his question. "What time is it in Japan?"

"Uh… I don't know." He noticed Bo didn't seem as anxious by her hands came to a still on the rounded end of her crook. "That's something you should probably ask Hamm."

"Thank you, Slinky." Bo said, graciously, beginning to head to where Hamm was undoubtedly playing Battleship with Potato-Head as he usually did during the day.

"Wait!" Slinky called after her, shuffling forward with rattling coils. "What are you going to do?"

Bo stood quite still for a moment in her contemplation. Then, the moment passed and she turned around swiftly, her head anchored towards Slinky. "They're bound to have been on display for the public for at least one day. What if the museum has a website?"

Slinky's expression became an array of catechizing suspicion, "How would that help us?"

"Well…" She thought for a brief moment in pondering silence before it clicked somewhere in the back of her mind. "That awful man stole Woody - we all saw that! So what if we were to voice in a complaint to the Manager of the museum and tell him Woody was stolen?"

"You mean…just call up and say Al had no right to give Woody away?" Questioned a curious Slinky, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Exactly."

"But…what if they don't believe us?" _There it was. _That sensible notion - oh that stupid logic gift! No-one in their right mind would give a sentimental collectible such as Woody away on a whim, even to a desperate and sobbing mother shaking to console to a child's tears. Bo bit her bottom lip. How could she have missed that?

"Well… I don't know." She deflated like a bursting balloon. The hope previously within her has diminished. "But - we can always try, can we not?"

"I still don't get it," Slinky said with a small shake of his head. "Even if it works, and the manager does believe us, what will happen to Buzz? He won't know. Woody 'n his friends will be gone."

Bo doesn't quite believe this. "No," Slinky paused in his tracks, trying to fathom her logic. His loyalty to Woody was as strong as ever - he was and always will be loyal to Woody - but there was an enigmatic persona to him that sensed this was a bad idea. "Woody will wait. He knows I…that Buzz will never give up on him. So if we make the call and get them to believe us when the museum opens again…he might just be free."

_Or sent to the dumps, _Slinky thought on a rather pessimistic note.

…

Seconds of panning minutes and minutes of even longer hours passed him by. Nothing's changed but the thickening of the velvety blackness into darkness. It's still as breathless as ever - as horribly cramped as it had been hours before, when he'd first made the pathetic mistake of stowing away in the suitcase of that elderly couple.

He wanted a release from this unbearable heat trap, to finally feel the cold air of the outside on him. The sweltering pressure was becoming far too much for him, and he just had to get out of it to redeem any sort of rejuvenation to his state.

Rolling about onto his stomach with much effort, he wedged himself closer to the case's sides, beginning to formulate a plan in his head. He swiped his hands along the edges. Thankfully, the couple had left the case unlocked, so if he was lucky it should just be the case of…

_There! _A flicker of light trickled into his space, gifting him with the slightest presence of the outside air. He felt for the gap, and widened it until he made his way through. After a few moments, he rolled out of the case and onto the floor below. The gentle hum of the plane's engine echoed through his body, and he sighed a very thankful sigh.

Only hours to go until this thing landed.

...

She watched Jillian leave, scowling as she did so. "They're all the same - full o'themselves." Jessie barely managed to turn to Woody as he was about to say something, before she continued. "I mean - it's absolutely ridiculous," she muttered underneath her breath, huffing. "Why did she have to bring up something like _that_?"

"She might only be curious-"

Jessie chortled, "I doubt that."

Woody frowned, though it's obviously clear at that moment that he's not too fond of the nosy space toy, either. Still, he keeps a calm-head for the sake of himself and the rest of the group. "Come on, Jessie. Just try to keep yourself level-headed, for once?" She scoffed, though rejects the chance to argue back at him; it'd be pointless, anyway. "They might not be the easiest of toys to get along with, but we have to face the facts here. Without them, we don't have much of a chance."

With the ire of a caged lion that's feasted on nothing but greens and whole-grain rice for a week, she circles around on heavy heels, her orb-like eyes hot and verdant, and _suddenly, he's the one who's at the wrong. _"We don't need their help, Woody!" snarled Jessie in something close to a noxious whisper. "Especially not when we were doing so well _without _their help."

That tone to her voice confused Woody, bid from fiction the noble and wise protagonist from Woody's Roundup - the hero of something he'd luck enough to be borne from. He paused uncertainly, his orb-like eyes beige and pondering in the dim-light shadows, "Jessie… You can't use that excuse."

She crosses her arms, the fiery temper she had adorned within her now returning. _No idea where this has come from, _came a nervous formulation of words and ineptitude from elsewhere in his thought. "How can _you_ be so sure?" she demanded. "Before they came to us, we were at least going to find a way out of here."

He sighed, infuriated, "It's not like that made much of a difference. They said there's no way out, and there's absolutely nothing here to suggest that there is-"

"We haven't tried," Jessie reminded him, gladly with an incensed voice.

"There isn't a way out of here, Jessie. Just look at that door," he gestured madly to his left, all the while thinking this was completely pointless. "You could hear it lock behind us when everyone left. There's no way out of it." He told her, pointedly, diminishing what little hope for this option she had left. Still, though he can see the temptation there unravel within her from the slightest twitch in her countenance, she doesn't succumb to what he is saying. "This is the last exhibit on this floor - I heard the manager say that before. The door is the only way out of here. And it's locked. Unless, I _daresay_, you have some better idea?"

He cannot believe how quickly this situation's turned around on them. Only a few moments ago, he'd been in the mindset to stick at Jessie's side for anything and everything, but now - following the brief encounter with Jillian, and the way she hinted at something between the two that obviously wasn't there, or so he told himself _over and over and over _again - he didn't know what to think. Akin, it was to staring Jessie down a couple of nights before at the thought that she was trying to ensnare him to Al's apartment to finally complete their collection and head to the museum, harbouring a kidnapped toy. Trapped in the same situation, but with opposing stances as they perch at conflicting ends of the spectrum.

A corner of her mouth falls into a frown for a second, "There's the vent." She said weakly. "You heard her before - one just at the end of the room, she said." Her voice was slow and drawled as she spoke, but she held herself together well enough for Woody to gather that she was not going to give this up soon.

"She says it's locked."

She lifted her head, brows arching, "But she never told us about them," Jessie gesticulated to the vent leading to the floor-boards in the display unit she and Woody had just climbed out of, the temper from before seeming to calm slightly. "And why the hatch is _open_."

"It could just be a coincidence, Jessie."

Jessie scoffed again in mockery towards the Space gang. "Well, Woody - coincidence or not - I'm not going to stay here while you give up after telling us all you thought it was a good idea to work together."

Before she can storm off towards the display case, though, to make sure Bullseye's not twitching and shaking with all those night terrors of what could be their next journey in Fate, Woody's hand on her shoulder holds her back. "Jessie-" his voice sounds breathless, as though what she had just said penetrated him with austere, abysmal coldness. His hands hooked through his belt-loops, twitching in the way of a man who didn't know what to do, or what to say. She stopped for a moment, puzzled at the patchwork of emotion on his face. A moment ago - and only that - he'd been nothing but determined to bring her down. _Now, he was…? _She started to ponder, but he continued before she could finish the thought. "You know I don't trust them either - I said so before - but I have to admit: I _don't_ think she's lying to us."

Troubled in thought, she spent the next few moments weighing down what Woody had said. It was harder for her to think than Woody might've thought, for after only the first of those few moments, the words from way back over the years started to rustle, too. Space toys were awful; they stole the limelight unduly, after years of history just from the overwhelming astonishment of the moon-landing - he would know, _he'd been there to hear the news - _the impossibility that had at last been fathomed; it was the luck of the draw Space toys were even popular to begin with, _children would choose a noteworthy steed over a rocket-ship any day_; they were all so full o'themselves, that they wouldn't notice if they, themselves, were indeed tattered cow folk; and it was because of this new technology, urged forward by the space landing and merchandise, that children and adolescents alike were ushered unto maturity, to abandon their dolls for purses and their hats for jackets. That was what Pete had said, and she could hear it all now.

Every single word from those years, all consoling her with fresh rounds of nostalgia from the years of darkness she'd spent stuffed inside that box, came back to her at that moment. She couldn't distinguish one word from another; the melancholy of her loss from the yearn she felt for a brighter future; nor even the hatred of the Space toys to the reminiscence of the sheer _agony_ of being abandoned. She would have liked to have blamed herself, so that the finger didn't fall in Emily - whom she had suspected all along - but she did not see what she could have done wrong. Emily had loved her; she was sure of it. So, naturally, the blame went towards _them. _The ones representing the sole miracle of an entire generation's shift in Interest from the past, to what undoubtedly was the future. If she could shift the blame towards them alongside Pete, then she wouldn't have to feel the immense guilt again from the early years of Storage, where she hadn't know what to believe. And she certainly wouldn't have had to blame Emily for her own petty ignorance, either, when they could be there to take it all off him…

She'd listened to Pete, believing every darn word he had said even when she knew it didn't make any sense. Space toys were bad news, always willing to stab other toys in the back to bask vaingloriously in the limelight. They were predators looking to cheat to the top - masterminds of manipulation. They talk fancy like perjurers, with their winning words. Jessie had already known how boastful they could be, having experienced an Armstrong figurine during one of her encounters with Emily's friends, so she didn't question Pete's prejudices against them, but more of how he knew they could _all _be like that. Nonetheless, years of persuasion and endless antics had feasted into Jessie's morals and, by the time Bullseye had been added to the lot, she'd wanted nothing more for it to all to just disparate into thin air. Storage; Pete's endless rambling; the Space-Landing; the loneliness inside of her… Just everything.

Before Jessie could realize she was trailing off in her thought, she heard the frown in Woody's voice as he said, "Jess?" It was just one word - her _name_, in fact - but the surprise still came out to her as unexpected and she stepped back, slightly startled.

"_What?"_ She was grasping the end of her braid before she even realized it, fiddling fretfully with her mat of yarn. When she looked back to him, he is puzzled. "_Well?_ What do you want?"

"I was just -" There is a pause, as he doubles over her behaviour. He was about to ask if she'd been listening, but somehow feels this is immaterial. "I was just saying: I _don't _think she is lying to us."

She never does remember exactly what came over her but, abruptly, she's absolutely furious. "So, that's it? You're not going to try?" She once presumed he'd have thought better. _Maybe he's shocked? _But she doesn't stop to think over the possibilities; she only wants the answer out of him - and as quickly as possible. When there's nothing but stunned silence, she continued, "You're going to let them get the better of you? When you still have an owner!" -she doesn't stop, even when his face contorts from that personal insult- "You were telling us before that you didn't want to stop! Now you've given up?" She shook her head, writhing with the thoughts in her head. _He's supposed to be the determined one - he's Sheriff Woody! _

"Jessie-!"

She dismissed what he had to say with a frantic wave of the hand. "I don't care, Woody! If you want to wait for your Space pal to arrive, then that's fine with me. But don't blame me when he's late!" A few moments were spent by Jessie trying to calm herself down. Hesitant and breathing deeply, she said, "Now, I'm going to keep that promise I made to Bullseye - even if it means I'll never be loved by a child again."

Before he even has the chance to respond - to recover from that final, finishing blow - she's gone from his sight, the vent slamming shut behind her, probably knowing what he's refusing to believe: That there must be a way out of here.

Nonplussed, in attempt to prove he was right, he searched the room around him for any signs of exits that might've been mentioned. There the door, but nothing else. Jillian had mentioned a vent - that, he could remember - but, apart from the one leading from their own display area, he could spot nothing. If there was another one, which didn't lead from the _Space to the Max_ exhibit, it must've been behind the curtains hiding the Space toys from view. If it was there, he and Jessie wouldn't know until tomorrow, unless one of them decided to snoop around. Woody knew he wasn't going to do this and, judging by how Jessie had ventured back to the _Woody's Roundup _section, he doubted she would, either, for tonight.

In dejection, Woody made sure to wait a few more minutes before letting out that sigh he'd been fighting, heading slowly back into the display unit.

He knew what Jessie had planned, and knew quite frankly that, any vents they might happen to find leading away from the room, could head anywhere. Whatever she had planned, she probably hadn't thought of what could happen if things went _wrong._ He didn't know, himself, of what could happen if he led himself astray right into the presence of humans, staring right at him with their mouths agape. None of them knew what was outside this room… What if it leads them to being seen?

Weighing these thoughts briefly, he decided eventually that the best thing for him to do at this moment was to not think about it all.

…

_The world, plastered into place like finest artwork in a gallery, was wakened restlessly by the gentle chirps of a fowl, somewhere beyond the neighbourhood shortly glimpsed through Andy's open window. A gentle breeze misted through the streets, gifting a heavenly scent of summertime and beauty to the air, the Sun resuming its stance high in the skies blessing the land with its warmth and aura. _

_Woody has not yet come across a day as fine as this. The sounds and the scents washed delicately over him, even from where he was perched lopsidedly on Andy's highest shelf from his threadbare arm. Below him, perhaps heading into their day or heading out of it - he couldn't tell - the rest of the group were strewn across the room, talking eagerly with one another and engaged in habitual activities. The atmosphere was at peace, as it normally was, with not a thing to perturb the day. _

_All was at rest, as it should be. Woody sat on the very top shelf, stroking his phantom-itch._

_A door closed downstairs. The toys, drained of anticipation, closed back to their positions. All of them one by one, filed back into the old, rusty chest Andy kept at the bottom of his built in cupboard, followed closely behind by a stonewashed Bullseye and a very nervous looking Jessie._

It's all right. They came back. They're happy now. It's all right.

_They all retreated back to their positions -_

_- all except Woody, who was frozen in place._

Thump. Thump. Thump. _The footfalls are nearing. He can hear them coming closer and closer_. Thump. Thump. Thump. _They're at the door now, their bearer fumbling with the handle. _

_Woody's floating eyes, which had been bobbing from side to side semi-consciously, drift back into place. He knew Andy wouldn't be able to spot him move - he starts to seem higher and higher up on those dusty shelves with each wandering moment - but he still resumes stillness. _

_All is quiet. The gentle footsteps have gone. Faded into nothing. For a fleeting second, he considers that the walker must have vanished into thin air._

It could be Buster… _The click of the opening door negated that thought._

_The day is normal; Woody no longer succumbed to the phantom itch yonder his stump, right where his arm should be. _

_"I wonder where I left that skateboard?" Asked Andy, or so he thought. Woody absent-mindedly boosted himself with his hands at his sides, craning his neck to catch sight of the person he could only assume was Andy. _

_He was right, but all the while as he thought, staring absolutely bewildered right at Andy's face, he wanted to be proven otherwise. That was Andy, all right, but it was far from_ his_ Andy. He'd aged years from how Woody remembered him. Six, perhaps eight? So much that his hair had migrated its shy-auburn faze and was now a full golden-brown hanging down like an untidy mop from his head. Andy's shot up in height, too, taller than Woody had ever thought he could be. And he strolled into the room with a lopsided swagger, obscenely hardcore music blasting from a bulging pair of Rockman headphones hanging around his neck. _

_Woody can't help but stare him down, mouth hanging half-open and feeling completely dumbfounded by what he was seeing. In his bewilderment, his plastic vinyl eyes swayed around the room looking for some sort of an explanation. But then he realized. All the toys retreated back to the toy box already. There was no-one to give him an answer._

_His nerve trembled at the thought of where all the years had gone. Andy was a little boy and now, he was just…gone. Gone from his interest in toys. Gone from Woody's life. Gone for good… And Woody's just sat there, clutching an arm that isn't there. Woody dropped his head to his right, studying the empty space where his missing arm should be. At first, he can't believe it's gone. After the initial moment of complete and utter shock, the incredulity passed and was replaced by an understanding. _

I lost it… Trying to bring Jessie and Bullseye back here. _There's no Pete. Pete is gone. Left to the mercy of the fire-yards down the Eastern border of Tokyo. _

_Andy has gone and grown up. There's nothing Woody can do about that now. And he doesn't even remember it. The years he should've cherished. The years he knew Jessie had been unable to hold close to her, because Emily entered the stage far too quickly._

_"Damn it!" Andy cursed from below. Woody, startled slightly, quickly snapped his attention to the boy. Andy was perched by the built-in cupboard nursing a heated-temper, making to open the toy chest in search for his treasure. "I hate it when Mom moves my stuff! Why can't she just leave it alone?"_

_Woody watched regretfully, wondering where that Andy had gone as this new, _hopeless_ Andy opened the chest. A jet of dust seeped out from the insides, splattering Andy all over the face and causing him to shield his eyes with his hands. He choked on a breath, "Geez, Louise." Waving the dust away, he rooted through the contents, picking up nothing more than toy after toy after toy._

_"Oh, this is hopeless!" he growled, throwing down the rag-stuffed horse in his hands and letting Bullseye plonk on the floor. "Look at all this junk! Things I haven't touched in years. It'll take me years to find anything decent."_

_Woody let out the smallest of gasps. He feared what Andy would do next. How he would treat his toys. How he would regard _Woody_, his best friend and most worthy watcher. He wouldn't just…treat him like that, would he? Like he was rubbish. After all he's been through just to get Jessie and Bullseye back!_

_The truth hit Woody again. But this time, it was harder for him. Like he'd been stabbed multiple times with the World's bluntest knife. Andy hadn't touched him in years. Not since he returned from Japan with Bullseye and Jessie at his side, one arm lost from his struggles… _

_He shook his head. When he regained his focus, he almost leapt to his feet in shock. Andy was looking at him, right at him. But his eyes aren't the same. They're thirsting with the remnants of a plan. _

_"I thought I got rid of you years ago? You're just a silly cowboy doll."_

…

Jessie is ready and in place in the morning before Woody even opened his eyes. Almost at once, he realizes the big mistake he'd made by even falling asleep in the first place: The people could walk in on them at any time - and he had about two minutes to get into place before they head their way and notice he's moved. Pete and Bullseye were already in place, blatantly recovering mentally from the last-minute panic to get back to their places.

Woody sensed the danger awaiting them now, before he can see or hear anything. Humans always had some aura quite distinct from all others, but in this place it was stronger than ever. The tension in his stomach penetrated deep into his insides, like there was something rancid in the air of sickening quality. He had no idea what it was about this place, the vibe to life that made his skin itch and his head ache, or what it was within him that made the feeling at least half a dozen times intensified than it was in other places. But he knew it couldn't be anything good. _They must be coming._

With that thought, he wheezed one short gasp and scrambled back towards his display-stand. As soon as he's facing the curtains again, he falls limp and inanimate onto the supporting frame, his plastic smile the same as ever on his vinyl face.

One short half-minute later, the curtains are drawn back until they are tucked completely away from his sight. It was one great, _whooshing _moment Woody didn't realize had passed until there were two bald, plumb men lumbering before him muttering to each other with words Woody did not understand. Both were kneeling down to the ground in favour for business Woody had no interest in, their postures and grunts resembling the demeanours of two great, blundering apes.

The Sheriff had no choice but to watch them through frozen eyes, for the two could look over at him at any time. If one did happen to look over and he blinked…well, Woody didn't have to be a maths whiz to put two and two together… After a couple more moments, the men stood up from crouching and slowly started to head towards the exit. Sooner than he thought was possible, they were gone.

Woody stole a quick glance at Jessie. Her eyes were trained hard at the distance, flitting just over the Space exhibit before shooting off in another direction. He followed her gaze, and spotted just what she was looking at.

A mere fifteen metres away, the doors were open for the public, standing ajar. The day didn't start for another quarter hour-

Woody is quick enough to spot the chance of escape just as Jessie does; but she was lifting on her feet from her stand and heading towards the hatch before he can even begin to think of what to do. His thoughts pan down to his boots, which in turn act just in time-

"Jessie!" he reached just as she dived to the hatch, throwing his weight on her and pinning her down to the floor. She let out the smallest cry of surprise when she found herself falling forward with a great _thump._ "What are you doing?"

She refused to answer as she struggled against him, "Woody! Get your hands off me!" He does no such thing, even as he felt the bewildered eyes of Stinky Pete and Bullseye turn to them at the sudden commotion.

"No-" She threw herself around in his grip, almost swiping him clean off his feet, but fortunately his hold on her was secure enough to keep himself from falling backwards. "Jessie - I said no!"

Stopping all of a sudden, she scowled at him quivering from her head to her boots from the strain of trying to keep herself still. Woody thought for a moment she had succumbed altogether, but then he thought better of himself. _She's probably just getting up her strength…_ Swallowing the smallest of gulps, as he knew from experience how strong Jessie truly was when she wanted to be, he tightened his hold around her.

"Woody," she said, calmly and with precaution. Woody immediately knew he was in for it - the beatifying mien to her voice was enough to pose as a poignant threat. "Get. Off."

He immediately declined, shaking his head furiously. "No, Jess. I know what you're going to do!"

"So what if you do! You said you wanted out of here, too!" her desperately searching eyes flitted to the entrance; their immediate escape into the outside world. If she could just get there, and bring Bullseye with her…

"It's too risky!" Woody retorted, his hands clenching around her shoulders in a very tight hold.

"What in Tarnation are you talking about, Woody?" she asked, pleadingly. Woody felt her quiver underneath him, anxious to struggle against him. "They're gone! The door's open! Look!"

Reluctantly, he looked to where she was pointing to. Against his spite, he was indeed entranced by the open opportunity awaiting them, just calling out his name…

Woody shook his head; that was a stupid idea. They'll never know what might be around the next corner, and a niggling impulse inside Woody convinced him that the risks can never be overlooked on a whim. Still, it was tempting. Woody had never felt such a desire to abscond everything he'd been brought to believe. He wanted to be with Andy again so badly that he'd do almost anything to get back to him. But the dream from the night before kept replaying in his mind, and he knew that if he risked it all doing this, Andy mightn't ever love him again. This thought itself, though very poignant, was enough to stir Woody's thoughts back into gear. No - he couldn't risk it. That just would never be right.

"Jessie…" he sighed, loosening his grip on her slightly. "I know you want to leave. I really do. But…you can't go about it like this. If someone were to see us alive - well…we just can't risk that." He heard Jessie huff from below him, and felt his heart shatter into many little pieces. "You know we can't."

She did, but she didn't like it. "But what if no-one's there?" She tried to keep her hopes up by thinking positively; that they had the smallest of chances of being able to escape, without having to search for a vent that could lead them anyway that might not even exist. "We'll be able to head through, and then get back-"

"Jess…" he tried to soften the blow by speaking gently to her, though he was positive it didn't work by the way she moped. "I'm sorry…but we can't risk leaving in broad daylight. There could be people anywhere, and they'll be quicker than you think to notice we're gone."

Seeming only to deflate at these words, Jessie groaned and lay, quite still and unmoving, as Woody released his hold on her. As soon as he stepped back, Woody expected her to leg to the hatch, but she did no such thing. She remained where she was, her arms folded under her chin as she frowned at the empty space.

"Jess…" he tried to speak, to voice his reasoning to why the idea was an absolute pathetic waste of time and that she was out-of-her-mind to be thinking so, but what little words he can think of to say don't seem capable of structuring a sentence. _She must be mad, _to think like this. But just as he began to disdain her approach to the situation, he pictured the look In Jessie's eyes the night before when she'd been quick on Bullseye's defence. It'd reminded him of himself. When he'd been convinced that the Roundup Gang would do anything to get in between him and Andy…

_I'm going to keep that promise I made to Bullseye - even if it means I'll never be loved by a child again._

He paused completely. Mist in his eyes started to show where he felt the puzzled thoughts play _over and over _in his mind. Was Jessie really that willing to see them through this? Would she, in good conscience, go through hell and back to keep the promise she'd made to Bullseye, even if she was never cherished again by a child? The way Andy loved him, the way Emily had loved her… Would she give everything up, for one toy?

Woody felt flabbergasted by this notion, almost not noticing the way Bullseye trotted up gently behind Jessie, casting a cautious but worried glance over his shoulder towards Woody. In his puzzled contemplation, he couldn't even fathom what shocked him the most. The fact that, Jessie would be willing to give it all up - every toy's purpose and joy in Life - just so Bullseye didn't have to cower from that no-good space-dog anymore? Or, perchance, the undeniably remarkable resemblance they shared? Woody knew where his loyalties lay. They were with Andy. Every single one of them. And, sure as heck, he would do anything for that boy. Crossing oceans would only be child's play if Woody knew he was doing it for Andy. Andy was his world.

Or, so he had been. A vivid recollection of his previous dream was starting to crawl back to him. He just shook his head, refusing to give in.

So was this just that? Did Jessie's loyalties lie with Bullseye and to Bullseye only? Woody was frozen in wonder as he thought. But wouldn't he? Wouldn't he do just about anything for the rag-stuffed horse he'd met only a few days before? He would, wouldn't he? He certainly couldn't be _that_ shallow.

"…Come on, boy." Woody let his eyes widen to a slight startle, not realizing how long he'd been lost in his thinking. When he focuses on the pair again, Bullseye is nuzzling against Jessie's open palm. Quickly, Woody cast a glance to Pete, who was also watching the two quite expressionlessly. "It's gonna be all right."

Quite defeated, Woody misted a few steps forward until he was by Jessie's side. He kneeled next to her, draping a shaking hand on her shoulder. She tensed like she'd just been slapped.

"Jessie?" asked Woody quietly after a few moments of silence. Bullseye watched him with a spark of question in his deep chocolate eyes.

Her next words sent daggers into his heart. "Just leave me alone."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Team Cowboy.**_

**Chapter Eight**

_~X~X~X~_

A sudden, gaping abyss materialised right under his feet. Opening up into darkness and Forever Silence right down to its bottomless pit… And he was plummeting into it. Into depths unknown to him and his sinking heart. He felt weightless. He felt guilt. The words followed him as he fell, his fixed eyes growing still and blanched ready for the working day. That was what life would be like for him, if he didn't try.

He'd fall, and he will never rise back up to his old self. Not with Jessie like this; he couldn't bear the thought of what she's feeling.

"Jess-"

"I said _go_." said Jessie, gruffly without looking back at him. Woody levelled his eyes at her feeling like he'd just been slapped. His eyes were wide like saucers, unable to believe what he was hearing. He knew he deserved it in her eyes, but to hear her disregard him like that in person left him feeling broken inside. The only toys he could have befriended, just gone like the wind.

He'd already suspected that everyone back at home loathed him for his decisions; he wouldn't blame them. For the horrible things he's done - the complete and curt dismissal of Buzz, the notion to even leave Andy to come to the museum with the Roundup Gang - he felt they had every right to hate him. Bo especially.

Bo…. Woody felt like he'd been slapped in the face when the name came into his thoughts. He hadn't thought about her since arriving at the museum. Or of his blatant discount of her when he'd been trapped at cross-roads trying to decide between his devotion to Andy and his fondness of the Roundup Gang. He hadn't thought about her at all during that time, or of their relationship. Nothing. Not even of how she must have felt when Al found him for the very first time. For a moment, Woody felt the worst he's ever felt. Bo… She didn't deserve this; he didn't deserve _her. _How could he have forgotten?

In his silent thought, he realized he hasn't retaliated to Jessie's command as of yet. But, before he could even utter a retort, he stopped. Somehow, he just couldn't get the pictures of Jessie and Bo out of his mind; the way he's affected their futures…

He shook his head.

"Jess - - I'm sorry… I didn't mean to upset you." Woody said, gingerly like this would even make the slightest difference. Still watching idly as Jessie tended to Bullseye sitting Indian-style on the floor, he tried to reach out for her again but suddenly tensed and froze. "You - you've got to believe me."

Nothing. She said nothing to him whatsoever. Woody thought his heart might have quivered at the ache of the rattling silence, but he abruptly became aware he had no heart to be sure… "It'll be better today, Bullseye-boy." She said, quietly enough for Woody to hear the struggle to sound serene. Though he was ninety-percent sure she wanted to rip his head off, she swallowed a gulp and continued. "We know what to expect now. It'll be just like what Pete said…"

"_I _didn't say anything!" Woody's eyes startled as he panned his head to the Prospector's box, the smallest of gasps releasing from him; he'd almost forgotten Pete was even there. A look of unfathomable repugnance lingered on his countenance as Pete's fists curled at his sides. His feeble hazel eyes were tremulously pulsating, as though the very sight of what he was seeing sickened his core. Woody stepped back slightly, having never come across a look such as that before. Regret and abhor…all mingled into one. "Don't start putting words into my mouth!"

The line was drawn for Jessie, "I wasn't!"

"Oh, yes you were." Stinky Pete retorted, folding his stubby arms irately. The cowgirl sat staring at him completely bewildered. "Making me out to be the bad one 'ere."

"But you are!"

"How _dare _you?" His voice dropped to a low and seething whisper. Woody watched but did not interfere, as his glower morphed and floundered into a gaze of innate affront. "You wanted to come here just as much as I did - you _both _did. Don't blame me for this!"

"Bullseye trusted you," was all Jessie said, as though this were the most personal offence Pete was guilty of. "_I _also happened to trust you. But you're just a no-good liar, aren't you?"

Pete growled, "You have no right to be saying that, lil' Missy!" He unfazed Jessie, her glower as penetrating and verdant as ever. Far more so than it had been with Woody only the night before… Jessie _loathed _Pete. "If it weren't fer me, you'd have gone and made yerself crazy in that box! You said you wanted to come here! But now you're beating the devil around the stump just to make me the scapegoat! Well - I'm having none of it. Just because the silly Sheriff made you fall head-over-heels, you somehow feel obliged to do _what-is-right!_"

Jessie shot to her feet promptly, so quick to the defence that Woody almost stumbled over backwards on his backside. "That's wrong, Pete!"

He chortled arrogantly, "Yeah? Well, it certainly looked that way t'me. Ever since he arrived at the apartment, you've been acting stranger and stranger! Thinking out-of-line and everythin'! Has he really courted you that well?" Pete stopped and waited for an answer he knew she wouldn't give in her flustered state. _There_, that should do the trick. If there was anything Jessie wasn't, she wasn't a clear-thinker when under pressure; and he's just hit the weak spot. Maybe if he could just hold her out, it might distract his thinking… "Well - it sure as heck looks like he has."

She stalked a few steps towards him, abusing whatever sense of personal space Pete would ever have. "You're wrong, _Pete_," Jessie scathed in a blind fit of rage. "Because I care very little for you both."

Woody blinked his falling heart at last surfacing the bottom of the never-ending abyss. He felt it shatter and break when it collided with its end and he was left gawking at Jessie with a quivering feeling in his chest. No - she couldn't… He was only trying to-

Whatever hope he had left for the future, it was gone.

…

A scoff. "What a waste of space."

Caught slightly by the sudden voice in her thoughts, Jillian turned her head slowly to the right. "Hmm?"

"_Them_," said Max, giving a curt nod over to the end of the room where the Western collection was displayed. "They're going to get themselves caught in a minute if they're not careful. For the Love of Xeneous - I knew the Museum made a mistake in bringing another collection into _our _room!"

Max's eyes started to glimmer, the painted pastel grey orbs the most insipid Jillian had ever seen in another toy's eyes. It began to occur to Jillian just how long Maxine had been free from her box. Her skin glittered where it'd worn over the years, the paintwork on her face and in her eyes starting to fade. Jillian didn't know how old Max was, just that she was second-hand and that over the years she'd somehow been sold on to a toy collector where she was fated to meet a toy intended for the _Space to the Max _set. The toy had shaken from head-to-toe the first time Max had attempted to talk to him, from word of tale, and she'd spent the next six months trying to work out what was the matter with him. Eventually, he seemed to spout like a balloon condemned to burst elucidating the terrors of the one place every toy feared: The Dumps. The fire and the awful, penetrating scents of a thousand tonnes of wastage, all burned to smithereens.

And then he repeated it all again in fluent Japanese.

He'd been with a friend, and he was the only survivor. Max said that he woke up screaming every night from reliving the nightmare. That toy was a replica Phillip. Smothered and stained with ash and soot, his fabric seared off in places and his limbs rigid, that was the Phillip that never made it. Within a week after telling her, their collector eventually caved in and at the wave of reality that no-one would pay for the wrecked toy, collectible or nay. Max had spent the next weeks sunken in short-lived remorse. An empty hole started to wither and yield deep within. The current Phillip wasn't found until after Jillian found herself waiting anxiously to head to the museum, and then only a week after that the collection was complete.

Sometimes Jillian thought Max still felt repentance for what had happened some time ago. In the way her eyes wander to the distance whenever anything was mentioned or asked or her past; in the way she looks like she's been slapped when Phil backs her up in an argument, or perhaps if he just looks at her In exactly the right way; or even just in the way this Phillip seems to forget what gender he is. The other Phillip hadn't been like that, Max had said. Even with hot-pink hair the colour of icing on a little girl's birthday cake, he hadn't been at all like him. Jillian, herself, thought this would be easier to handle. If they were both exact in character, it would be like living in regret for the rest of your life, knowing that there was nothing you could've done for the original and that you'd live with the heavy conscience that you're cheating your way out of the guilt with the thought of the new Phillip. For Max, however, things seem to be different. As if the very notion of them being different reminded her of everything the other Phillip had been, and how she was never going to see him again because she'd been too slow to save him. Survivor or not, no-one would survive in his condition.

"I thought they wanted variety?" Jillian asked, pointedly. Max huffed slightly, folding her arms against her chest where she stood on her display rack. "Something about having no traditional displays on sight?"

"Then they bring in a collection of stuffed animals! Not these…_imbeciles_._"_

Jillian frowned lightly, "Actually, studies have shown that some still value and admire historical concepts. The nineteenth century momentously influenced American history, especially with the significance of the Civil War-"

"Do you _always _have to be such a know-it-all?" Probed Max, rolling her eyes. Jillian felt her face contort with abhor for a split second, before she thought better of herself and relaxed. "How do you even know all of this, anyway? We're in Japan - you've never even been to the United States."

"No," Jillian said, simply. "But my owner lived with a family who are, theoretically, American."

Max didn't seem to have listened, her eyes instead focused on the Western exhibit across from them. "Can you believe them?" She asked with a _let's-change-the-subject-now! _tone of voice. "Complete disregard for the fact that they could be caught. What if they're seen? That'll spoil it for all of us."

"I doubt they'll let that happen, Maxine." Jillian said briefly after a moment of thinking. "Most toys are dedicated to keeping the secret-"

"They're freaks," Max scorned, her eyes impatiently zooming to her left towards the entrance to the room. There were no signs of any more human activity as of yet, and the business day didn't officially start for at least another ten minutes. Still, the sight of the Western sets curdled her insides; it was made clear by the way her scowl angled down to the very pits below. "It looks like someone picked them out the rubbish!"

"They seem to be nice-"

"_Nice?_ Have you never seen a Western toy before?" Max asked rashly with the ire of a thousand days of looking her best to be her best gone to waste. "They're nothing more than a collection of arrogant, pretentious, barbaric, insolent idiots who have the audacity to think that just because they have fancy hats and plastic firearms, they deserve deference for their designed _heritage._" Max started irately with gained antipathy as she spoke. "Well, they have another thing coming."

Jillian blinked. Never in the few years they had known each other, had she witnessed such a defined edge to Max's character. It's nothing she's ever seen before. Max was the _leader - _she's created to always be on top of any and every situation, an able mind of calm and virtue. The most able of them all, in fact, even above Jillian the Navigator. But, now that bedlam has been strewn haphazardly into their routine of order and habit, her mindset seemed to be somewhere else completely. Even if only shortly - barely twenty-four hours at that - the abhor in Max's aura as she stared down their competitors was unlike any Jillian had come to see in her before. The utter vibe of hatred Max had for them startled her slightly.

Countless other sets before _Woody's Roundup_ had come and gone into this room. They came at the time funds and profits from the museum had been enough to sustain the different collections from all the various exhibits. It had been a matter of scheduled order and custom _Space to the Max h_ad become acquainted with, being the public's favourite. One collection would come in, stay a while, and then depart from the premises with little forewarning. Max had always shrugged off their arrivals with no true or genuine thought with a typical conceit brashness, not pausing to think of the collection's sentimental worth. The impudence had actually come as far to the stage of, when a congregation of old, pre-historic themed toys came to notice a few months back, she'd regarded them with a simple, _they won't last a month. _

She'd been completely wrong; that hadn't lasted a week. But Maxine hadn't seemed all-too concerned about that. She'd smiled when they were finally wheeled clear of their exhibit, a devilish portent Jillian still remembers to this day. Her manner then had been nothing like how she honestly and truly felt inside. For the first time, she actually looked…perturbed.

"Max?" Jillian said slowly, wondering where Max's thoughts had wandered off to as she tilted her head slightly to the side. To her left, Phil was anchoring his head in their direction. "Are you all right?"

Max didn't answer. Her eyes seemed to be ensnared by what she was seeing, as though it were testing the very reason of her existence to even be alive in the same room as the Western set. Her steel grey eyes stilled, the aberrant light glittering from her hard-wired jaw…

"Is she okay?" Phillip asked drawing Jillian's attention to the other side of the display case where he was staring riveted towards the distracted captain. Max glowered straight ahead showing no sigh of acknowledgement to their puzzled glances.

"I think so…" Jillian paused slightly to direct her gaze to yonder where Max was staring. The Western set, from the looks of it, were struggling to recover from a heated debate as all looked uneasy and were all out of place for the day's start. They all knew when the business day began, for it was all within a toy's nature to sense a human's presence coming nearer, so she doubted they were oblivious to what they were doing. They must know. But, then again, every toy Jillian had met seemed more capable of pulling their-self apart limb from limb than to willingly break the toy's tacit code. If that was the case, then why was Max so anxious? "I just don't think she likes them that much."

_She doesn't like anyone, _came a spiteful voice at the back of her mind. She motioned its departure with meagre means of thought.

"She doesn't like any of the s other sets. Does she even like us?"

"Will she ever-?" Jillian started to say. Before she could finish, however, Max turned sharply and promptly startling her out of her wits.

"I _am _listening, you know?"

….

"I'm telling you, Bo," whispered a very blatant voice in the dead hours of the morning, one that could only belong to the narcissistic Hamm. "I highly doubt this will work. If I have my figures right, Woody is worth more than Mom makes in a year! Anyone with sense would be stupid to give him away."

Bo rolled her eyes, growing tired of answering the same point of his over and over again. "Well, we have to try. For all we know, it could work."

"_For all we know," _continued Hamm on a rash note, "it might _not _work. Look, Bo. I know you want to help him-"

"He'd do it for us."

Hamm stopped for a moment in his place besides Bo. The darkness around them is lit only by the faint light of the computer screen at the corner of the living room just left of the windowpane. They'd ventured there just after they were sure Mom had headed upstairs and to bed to research the background of the museum. As of yet, they'd found nothing on Woody. No news on new additions to the museum has been released, but Bo had insisted otherwise; they must've been there by now. And if the call did happen to be made before _Woody's Roundup _was bestowed upon the public, then chances are the procedure would follow through on a much smoother path.

"What? Oh, yeah…right." Hamm spluttered. "I know. We all want to help him. But I just really don't think this will work. Woody's worth more than we know, and the rest of the set only adds to the total worth. No-one would sell the set unless Woody's there. He's the face of the show."

Bo let out a slow sigh, but tried not to let the negativity get the better of her. "I know he is, and I understand they probably won't let him go. But we can always try. What if they do let him go? It would make it easier for Buzz to find him."

Hamm sat and contemplated whilst Bo anxiously ran her hands along the crest of her crook. "Well - there's a possibility… I don't know why they would, but if you really think-"

"Oh, I do."

"O-okay. Well, if you truly think it will work, we can give it a go."

Bo beamed excitedly, "Can you see their number on the site?"

Hamm smirked, "I've memorised it from number-to-number. Would you like the address?"

"Oh yes," Bo said with resound confidence. "That would be great."

He nodded quickly, "First thing in the morning, we'll make the call."

…

The plane gave a great dive from its glide in the skies. Buzz, not expecting such a turnover, stumbled backwards into a pile of suitcases.

_What the…? _It took him a few moments to gather his bearings. A sudden weight lifting in his stomach made him feel queasy inside, like he was plummeting to the Earth from quite a height…

A suitcase above him began to shudder from the motion. Before he could take much notice of this, it toppled over sideways with one last teetering tremor and collided into his back. The sudden impact had him crashing to the ground, just as he feared this plane might do in a few unlucky moments…

His breath left him in fear for what would happen, his thoughts haywire at the pressure on his back pinning him down to the floor. This couldn't be it - the plane couldn't be falling… The very notion was terrifying him, slowly starting to cut its way into his shrewd tactics. He'd heard many tales of aircrafts crash-landing, mostly from Andy watching all those strange documentaries.

None of them turned out well.

Buzz sucked in a breath, bracing himself for some kind of impact. Would this be like how it'd been for him falling down to the ground after testing his ability to fly at Sid's house all those long months before? When the answer came around, it wasn't at all as he expected. The aircraft gave one last, shuddering jerk as the engines droned on. Buzz thought the craft might've collided into something, until he was forced from his pondering when something else collided into him like he happened to be the unlucky tenth bowling pin and he was sent scrambling forward on all-fours trying to regain some sense of his bearings.

The Space Ranger skidded to a halt shortly before a mound of cases and bags, gasping and shaking for breath. In the seconds that passed, he knew nothing of his surroundings. Where he was, why he was here, or even why the noises were beginning to diminish slightly, fading into the background. By the time it hit him, the engines had revved to a stop and all was silent.

He blinked slightly. Through his perplexed state of thinking, his perception was distorted resulting in him moving clumsily and blubberingly as he attempted to roll free from under the suitcase pinning him to the ground. Eventually, he managed to nudge it aside and climbed gauchely to his feet.

It took him even longer to realize the obvious. The plane blatantly hadn't crashed and it was no longer in motion, which could mean only one thing.

The plane had landed.

…

And so the day passed. Woody didn't fathom this day would be any different from the last when it started, and without further ado, he thought correctly. Tourists and locals of all ages and walks of life passed them by, murmuring ambiguously and flashing cameras at their set quickly before turning to the high-light of their tour. Those who were caught by the fascination of the _Space to the Max _exhibit meekly huffed the jeers of _I've seen better_ or _no-one really cares about that stuff anymore, do they? _

Woody spent the lonely hours dwelling on the future awaiting them. The mingled collage of beaming faces and sadistic humour stood perched before him. If they never made it out of here, that's what'll face them. And then, once the audience grew bored and regretful of this new addition to the museum, the very place Woody knew now to fear. Even if they somehow made it against all odds, who knew how long it would be before the rest of the Roundup Gang started turning against him? Jessie was already furious. She hated him for not trying, even though an immense part of him knew there was little reason to. Not in a place like this, where there are no means of escape. And Bullseye - well - Woody could only wonder how long it'd take him to finally appreciate the fact that he was no good for them.

Pete was already that way, loathed by the others. And Woody was next for his bout of neglect; it was the least he deserved.

Bullseye was the first to move once the doors clicked to a lock behind the caretakers, making slowly in Woody's direction towards where the Sheriff could only presume Jessie was about ready to revive. His head was hanging low and sombre, a pair of deep rounded eyes lingering idly where he was stepping as he trotted towards the cowgirl.

On a saddened note, Woody felt his heart quiver for the horse. Bullseye didn't want any of this; Woody knew this at the least. The wretched tone of despondency blossomed with the way he walked as he trotted towards Jessie. In his short contemplation, he came to the thought that Bullseye, perchance, had never wanted this. It was fate itself that had worked around Bullseye, not personal choice.

Jessie met Bullseye halfway, ruffling his mane in her usual note of greeting. The sight of this made Woody pause to think some more. Jessie seemed determined to keep Bullseye in high spirits, and expected Woody to somehow understand every intention she had in mind though he knew very little of what it truly meant to her. He didn't know Bullseye. Bullseye was just a toy; one he'd met only a couple of days before, to be exact. Woody knew nothing of his background. Of his first few steps, or even if there had been anything before Al, before he'd been brainwashed into thinking the museum was the best place for them. He didn't know what Bullseye wanted, other than that he wanted to be as far away from that space-dog and as close to Jessie as possible, so what was he to do? Just assume that Jessie's thoughtless risk-taking was the only way to feat the outcome he desired? Woody wanted to believe so, but he was far from the naive cowboy. He wanted to be back in Andy's life as much as he had done before, but the irrational thinking can only ignite so many sparks before it has to be contained. Otherwise, it'd blossom like a wild fire into a whole new façade of thought and innovation. At this point, Woody could not risk that; especially with what had resulted between him and Buzz when Woody'd let his envy get the better of him. Impetuosity was his worst liability, even if he wasn't the one hurt by his own actions.

No - those people were his friends. His family. Andy… If he ever wanted to see him again, he can't risk an early trip down to the dumps or in a science lab from being caught alive. On that notion, he calmed slightly.

"You see?" He heard Jessie ask. The short pit-patter of her footsteps heading towards the corner of the display case roused Woody from his thought. He looked to her again, the sight of her averting him to the fact that he hasn't yet moved from his inanimate façade. A short, cynical sigh escaped him as he stepped forward. "Today wasn't so bad, was it?"

He wasn't yet so sure of what to do with himself. Reruns from the night before had shortly stopped repeating back on him as he waited for the day to end, but the resilience within him acting as the blockade to these call-to-minds was slowly starting to wane. If Jessie were to look to him right now, he knew she'd invariably witness the insinuation within him that he was focused on only one thing: his last hope, now faded like a winter's whisper travelling through the dark. A hope that perchance, against all the censorious odds, that they can make it through this - that Woody, at last, can be reunited with his child after all the despicable things he's done. But in reality, Woody knew the chances were slim. And if Jessie should happen to look up at him - bear the weight of the mess he's landed them into to finally look him in the eye - his countenance now proffering the melancholy picture of a thousand words, she'd see exactly that. Nothing more - and certainly nothing less. Hope always has to be balanced with reality, otherwise those little dreams and buzzing wishes will just get bigger and bulkier and too surreal by far; that's when the bad things happen to good people. Like where there had been a hope in Woody's heart that the museum really was the answer to his questions…

"If you just think positively, it's not so bad-"

"What in the name of tarnation are you talking about, girl?" The calling of commotion and disarray to Woody's thoughts made him turn his head to the blanched face of the Prospector. "Today was a disaster! It's all because of those wretched space-toys! They think they own everything."

Huffing, Woody did nothing but roll his eyes and turn away, heading towards the other side of the display case away form Pete. The last thing he needed at the moment was to listen to any more of Pete's spiteful grumbles. Woody knew he needed the room and quiet to be left to himself, otherwise he might just go mad on constant irritation. The least Bullseye and Jessie deserved was for him to lose his temper and take it out on them. So he resolved this notion by collapsing in an exhausted heap in the corner whilst the argument proceeded henceforth.

"We could'a had it all!" _Yeah, right. _"But then those Space toys come along and take what is rightfully ours! There's not even a cent of value to their set-"

"None less than _you,_" said Jessie with a touch of abhor. Bullseye now a few paces back from Jessie's side started to whimper.

"Is that so?"

"If the boot _fits."_

Woody swallowed just the smallest of gulps. Only a good few minutes later after Jessie and Bullseye had retreated to the corner opposite him to be alone and Pete reconciled in his grump did he finally swallow another one. His rounded hazel eyes stared blanched at an empty spot upon the curtains concealing their exhibit from view of the _Space to the Max _collection. As the silence of the evening began to dwell upon them, speaking and thinking started to seem all-the-more inane.

_We'll be stuck here. And then there'll be no way out-_

In the time spent here - however brief it may be - resulted in only arguments; thinking, just rash philosophy. A simple exchange of words and opinion with Jessie had repulsed his temper and disjointed his motivation to keep trying for Andy. He didn't know what could make this any worse…

_Apart from that she's becoming everything you once were._

If the boot _fits. _If the boot fit, none of this would be his fault. He'd be with Andy, absconded from Al and his wretched collection. The Roundup Gang would be in waiting, ensnared in the dark for however long it took for Al to find another star like him. But that wouldn't matter.

As long as he was with Andy….

If the boot had been the right size in the first place, Jessie would have been the wrongdoer; Pete, nothing but an old and feeble toy who'd do nothing with right and conscience to stop him from seeing his owner again. When Woody had first said this to Jessie, completely sure she was the culprit in the mess he'd landed himself into, he'd been determined to do what was right; to get what he wanted - no, _needed _- out of the situation. He needed to be with Andy. He's already done so many bad things; he can no longer count his misdeeds on one hand. He has to do something right.

It was that very same determination in himself he'd felt not so long ago, that he was sure he could see in Jessie. _Heck, _if she was as determined as he ever was, it had all been within her from the start and now she was finally beginning to make ends meet.

The smallest of sighs escaped him. If she was as indomitable as he'd ever been, then she was going to try and was not going to stop until she'd found a way out and was safely home - wherever home happened to be. And if he endeavoured to get in the way, he could kiss the handy stitch-work in his right shoulder good-bye.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Team Cowboy.**_

**Chapter Nine  
><strong>

**Lady Cougar-Trombone: Now, try not to sound too morbid. ^^ I appreciate all the words and ideas of my readers, so will always try my best to accomodate them how they see fit. The plot may be planned out, but that doesn't mean I can't kick it up a bit. :) Thank you very much for the idea, I really appreciate it. You know, I think it might just work... *evil grin*  
><strong>

_~X~X~X~_

You're my best friend._  
><em>

_**I know I am**_, _even as the world swirled and glided around them both in the motion of the sailing tyre-swing, she knew there was absolutely nothing in the world that could break them apart. Not even the wind of momentum, which assailed between them both as though almost destined to pry them from one another,_ _**there for you. **_

_**Always.**_

I know you probably can't hear me-_  
><em>

_**I do.**  
><em>

_The child is starting to grow. Outside, the first bout of Winter Snow has settled upon the flakes of dirt and earth. The spring to the air is cold and fresh and pecks at her stitch-work as the rag-doll lies half-covered by the sheet of freshly-fallen snow. Emily is bouding at her side, casting her limbs to and fro creating many unique shapes onto the canvas of dazzling white. There's a smile on her face,_ _**I love it when you smile. It makes me happy.**_

_**Am I doing it right? **She's almost sure she is._

-but I really need to talk to someone that won't judge me.

_**You're perfect the way you are...  
><strong>_**Just**_** the way you are.**_

_**Why would anyone do that?**_

_She'll never judge her. She loves her._

_Emily is perfect._  
><em>Emily is<em> everything.

No-one else will listen. But I know you will.

_**Always. You can tell me anything.**_

_And so she did._

_The child has moved on. Beyond the window-pane, the eve motioned to the notion of eloping with certain closure and blossomed with the promise of a bright tomorrow. Another glorious wintertime snowfall has blessed the ground with a sheeting of marvelous white. The glittering of evening light atop of the grassy fields just beyond her home presented the perfect picture for any artist to behold and invited children from all around the neighbourhood to exploit the winter's festivity. But Emily no longer plays in the snow, for she is no longer a child; nor is Jessie at her side, for she's been away and out of Emily's sight for months. Waiting.**-Just one more touch- **_

_Emily dipped a marshmallow into a steaming cup of hot chocolate, absent-mindedly flicking through a fashion magazine atop of her bed with her free-hand. She does not notice the difference, nor the emptiness that brews inside Jessie's heart as the days befall and pass her by._

I hate her! She just doesn't listen. Why does no-one listen to me anymore?

**_I listen._**

It's like no-one even cares about me.

_**I care about you-**_

It's not fair!

_**-I always have.**  
><em>

Why does she have to wreck everything for me?_  
><em>

_**Emily - please! Just let me listen. **  
><em>

_But the days of silence are all that await. Until, one day deep in the autumn-time that colours the sky such an elaborate amber, Jessie's luck began to turn. At least, that was all Emily's smiling face told her the day she found her old Jessie the Yodelling Cowgirl collecting dust, just under her bed. Jessie's thoughts and feelings had been the happiest that day. Just the sight of Emily made her spirits leap to the heavens._

_That smile._  
>Emily's <em>smile.<em>

**_I've always loved your smile. _**_That was a good moment - the _best.

_But the good things in life never last; Jessie should have known that sooner. Emily was far too old for toys, far too sophisticated to play with obsolete rag-dolls. She deserved the betters things in life._

_She deserved _Everything.

_Unfortunately, Everything was not what Jessie had. That was what she learned on the day Emily left. On the day Jessie happened back into Emily's life and departed once more, never to see her owner again. Jessie did not deserve Emily, just as she never had. Emily was everything to her; she deserves the world._

_The car drove away on that fine day, Jessie in the donations box watching her everything speed away and off towards the distance. Never to be seen again, her eyes filling with the fear that the desolation will be the only thing of her when the time's right enough._

_The days wore on. Jessie didn't know where she was, or what to make of the circumstances. The fleeting despair inside of her kept striking when she least expected it, and often that will be all that's left of her. Just the shame, and the guilt that she was not good enough for her. She didn't know what to do, or if she'll ever feel like herself again. As the days and weeks eventually passed into years, she could only be certain of one thing._

_She would give anything,_ **_just to see Emily smile one last time._**

...

"We both know you're going to go."

For a split moment, Jessie blanched at the unheralded voice corrupting her thought. When she regained her bearings, she immediately looked left towards the source of interruption. Woody was sat cross-legged against the glass at the other end of the display looking very astute and attentive like he happened to be envisaging delightful pleasantries to make someone else's day. "So why waste your time trying to wait me out?"

He looked far too relaxed, too much so for her liking. "What are you talking about?"

"What?" he chortled, throwing his head back to perch against the head-board of the glass, completely smudge-free from the work of the Museum's caretakers. "Are you trying to play stupid with me? You know that shouldn't work. Potato-Head's been trying that on me for years," said Woody as he slowly turned and fixed his eyes on Jessie. "But it never does work. You'd know that bang-up if you knew him. Heck, you might even learn well from him."

There's something not quite right about this. The way he's speaking... "He was the one that stuck his feet in his eyes?" she asked with meager allusion of interest.

Woody pulled a grin at the thought. "Yep. That's him all right. A deadbeat spud he can be at times, but...well, he has his moments. Everyone does."

"Don't say that if you know it ain't true."

"But it is," he retorted through a smile of genuine benevolence. "I tried thinking that once, and it landed me in a whole lot of trouble with my owner."

"What kind of trouble could you get yourself into?" Jessie mocked, even in spite of the constant nagging in her conscience warning her to back out of this. It didn't feel quite right to be spiteful of Woody, not when things were like this. He's probably even right. "I thought things were perfect between you and Andy. That's why you didn't want to come with us."

"To this place?" Woody remarked, genuinely nonplussed. "It's worse than I thought it would be - no toy in their right mind would want to waste in here."

Jessie narrowed her eyes, "You're avoiding the subject."

"What do you mean?" She didn't answer him, but he picked the gist of her verdant glower up easily enough. "Look, Jessie, I don't know what you're getting at. But, let me assure you-"

"Assure me what?" Jessie asked, like she already knew the answer. That's impossible, thought Woody. She can't know what it feels like. She's never let Emily down. Not like this. "That everything will be okay and that everybody has a good side to them when that's what I thought was all of 'em in the first place?"

Woody blinked, "I-"

"Don't even start with it, Woody." This is all out of proportion. If only he could just- "Things don't turn out like that in real life."

"But-"

"You're letting the puppet-show get to you," she remarked, more casually than she perhaps should have. "Well, here's a reality check. Some just aren't like that. They're not hiding their good side, 'cause it's the fowl one underneath they're trying to hide."

"What...? Jessie... I-I don't-" He can't believe this: how her demeanour can renovate the way it has in such a short bout of time; how she can seem so relaxed and yet harness such a hostility.

"You don't what, Woody?" She mused as she took off her hat and commenced tempestuously wringing the ivory-white tipped rim, her eyes lowered and pointed designedly away from him. "You don't think someone could be that one-dimensional? That they try to hide the bad in them for so long that you believe you can trust them and that they won't do nothin' to hurt you?" If only he knew...that Pete wasn't the first she'd thought of. She was trying to hide the guilt for Emily in her own spite; she wanted him to see this so bad. But Woody just gaped, blanched in expression and puzzled in wonder. "You'd be living in fantasy if you could really believe that."

Jessie, unable to think clearly with this liability of sentiment beginning to anchor her down, made to her feet leaving a slumbering Bullseye to twitch slightly at her absence. She couldn't balance her judgement from irrationality, not in these circumstances. The best resolve was to distance herself from her problems, so she concluded that being away from this display would be the best thing for her. Besides, she had snooping to do if she wanted to find a way out of here. Might as well do that, before the Sheriff kicked up a fuss.

"Jessie..." Woody motioned to catch her eye, but his attempts proved futile. "Please - if you'd just listen."

"No." Jessie interjected, heading straight towards the hatch near where Woody was perched against the glass. "You listen to me. Don't you dare start saying everyone has a soft spot to them, Woody. You don't even know half of it - you were prized by Andy, and no toy can beat you. You can think that some are trustworthy, but you'd be kidding yourself. No-one hides a good side, Woody. It's the bad one they keep locked inside, until its rotten and savage enough to come out and take you by the throat. It's the bad side to them they pretend doesn't exist, until it works well for them and they just let it go without much of a second thought. I thought Emily was my everything just like your precious Andy. But she let me go, and I didn't even get to say goodbye."

"Look, what happened with Emily was-"

"I'm not finished," she said with a hint of abhor. "Emily left me, that's all there is to it. Just gave me away. I didn't know who to, and I doubted she did either. Then I had to spend God knows how long in a blast-ended Charity store until Al finally came around and bought me. I was in such a state then I didn't care who bought me, but when I eventually came around, Al had me in storage and Pete was the only one there." Woody blinked at her, knowing already the notion of what she would say next. "I thought he was good at first. He helped me through the beginning of storage, and when Bullseye came around, I finally had some hope for the future. He helped teach me that, no matter how dark the mines may be, you'll always find the light eventually. And you want to know the worst bit? I actually believed him. I trusted him. But what does he do? Turns his back on us. Me and Bullseye. Just when we thought we had a true friend."

The next few moments were a blur of heightened senses for Jessie as she breathed deeply to register some feeling back into her insides and confusion from Woody's part as he tried to digest what Jessie had just said. She was still fiddling with the hat anxiously in her hands, a change from her usual tugging of the braid. Jessie didn't know what had come over her, especially since she'd been intent on aggravating Woody with some kind of truth only moments before, but the thought that she was trying to kid herself remained persistent in her mind weighing her down. She couldn't blame Emily, not for her own ignorance; she could never do that. But the reality of the situation was threatening to corrupt her rationality, and she didn't know what to do.

"Jessie... I'm really sorry that happened. But you can't let it get the better of you."

He breathed in deeply to regain some sense of the situation. Negotiating with Jessie seemed only futile, for she persisted hard not to listen to the voice of reason. He knew she wanted out, just as much as he did, but there was a rational side to him that just couldn't reconcile to such disorder. Getting themselves caught was not the resolution to their problems and Jessie, deep down he thought, knew it. "Please, Jessie. Just don't do anything stupid."

Jessie glowered at him long and hard, "Don't tell me what to do, Woody. The Jessie in the show might'a been your personal little playin'-card, doing all your chores and getting herself trapped in the mine 'cause of it, but I'm not her. Things are real different here than they are in the show Woody. Some just have surprises in them 'til the end, hiding one bad thing from another. Like me, perhaps?" She said with a very deliberated drone to her voice. "I don't think everyone has a good side to them, because some just don't. And I'll be hog-tying the mailman before I stop trying to get out, which you're so sure I should do. I'd rather get caught than waste in here."

"But, Jessie - it's not a risk you should take," was all he could say. His mind was ringing with the buzzing of conflict and ambivalence. There was something to Jessie's words that had him reeling with mental protest. She was wrong; she has to be. No-one could possibly be that shallow... "I know you're upset, but getting yourself caught is not the answer. If we want to get out, we have to think rationally."

She fixed eyes with him, and Woody knew she wouldn't stop. "We seem to be thinking very rationally now, don't we?"He swallowed a great lump in his throat from the ineptitude beginning to grow inside him. "We've been here almost two days. And in those two days, all we've done is argued. You told us if we worked together we'd find a way to escape. Well, I'm trying and you beat the devil around the stump trying to get away from it. Why won't you help?"

"I'm sorry if the shoe doesn't fit the horse, Jessie, but I'm not going to agree with this. Not after what you did yesterday. What were you thinking? Trying something like that. You could've been seen!"

"Don't tell me something I already know. But what else was I supposed to do? Just wait and do nothing until the garbage-man comes along? What would we do then? That's our only chance, unless I can go check those vents. You know it, Woody. You're just too yellow to take a chance."

"Jess-"

"Just forget it," said Jessie as she swiftly planted her hat onto her head. "I don't care what you think anymore. If you want to be like this, feel free by all means. But you're on your own team."

Only when she started to lift the hatch up and above her head, did he retaliate, "You shouldn't be doing this."

"Just makes it all the more fun." Jessie muttered as she began to lower herself down into the hatch. "Oh, and one more thing before I leave. _Go,_ Team Cowboy."

...

"Mommy, are we really in Japan?" asked a small girl as she ventured into Arrivals, her rounded and hazel eyes attentive at the immeasurable scale of this new place. The crowds of people arriving from all sorts of countries and nations was a whole different experience for such a young person, therefore resulting in some conflicting emotions of awe and anxiety within the girl. She was linked hand-in-hand to an older woman who, obviously, was her said mother.

The mother turned around to her daughter, "Yes, Helena. We are."

Helena frowned, "Why are there so many people here?"

"Well, sweetie, Tokyo's a very busy city."

"Oh," murmured the small girl as she carried on forward, eventually joining a line with her mother of people waiting to go through security, dragging a small, hot-pink carry-on suitcase behind her as she walked. The suitcase looked very bulky as though there had been some difficulty in fitting all of her necessary possessions into the designated space.

After the two passed through security and into luggage-claim, the mother quickly retrieved her own suitcase and then they proceeded towards the exit. The airport was a lot busier than she'd imagined, so getting through the exit and to the outside proved to be more of a feat than she had expected.

"Are we walking to the hotel?" The girl asked tiredly once they were outside, spotting an array of taxis and buses parked by the front curb.

"No, Helena. It's too far to walk," said the Mother. "Just wait here while I'll go check out those cabs."

Helena nodded and sat herself down on a bench near the entrance, lifting her suitcase up and perching it besides her. After staring at it for a few, quiet moments, she decided to appease her curiosity by opening the case.

Inside there was something she hadn't quite expected: A Buzz Lightyear action doll. Frowning slightly in her thought, she picked up this doll, zipping the case shut absent-mindedly as she did so. She hadn't expected this at all. In fact, a space toy was the last thing she'd hoped to find in her luggage.

"Okay, sweetie," said the mother as she headed back to her daughter, weaving her way through several groups of people in the meanwhile. "I've got one here. Come on."

Helena showed very little interest in that, "Mummy, look what I found." She said, holding the toy up.

"Well, put it down. It's not yours and you don't know where it's been." The girl opened her mouth to argue, but soon realized the attempt would be futile and dropped the conversation.

As Helena started to amble towards her mother, Buzz had to resist a smile.

He was here in Tokyo, and was just that much closer to finding Woody.

...

"Look at all this mess," remarked a busy Ms. Davis as she paced into Andy's room, rubbish-bag dangling from one hand and a polishing cloth and can wedged in the other. "No wonder he can never find anything in here."

She gave one long, rattling sigh and began to busy herself sorting through the stacks of videos and comic-books left scattered about on Andy's desk, separating them into neat and tidy piles. When this task was completed, she continued her work with the polishing. The piggy-bank's dotted eyes were gazing at her idly as she worked, and his belly rattled enthusiastically with over six dollars in change when she moved him aside to polish the wooden surface underneath his feet.

"That should do it," Ms. Davis muttered after giving the desk one final dust down. "I honestly don't know how he lets his room get like this." With another small sigh, she collected her polishing can and cloth and began to head out the door. "I only hope Mrs. Parks doesn't have to clean up after him this much."

At these words, Hamm almost blinked with surprise. Andy was at his friend's that morning; their owner had left shortly after waking, hoping that this day would be better from the depression of the last. It was an unspoken advantage for him, for when Ms. Davis leaves to pick up Molly from daycare within the next hour, the house will be empty offering Hamm and Bo the perfect opportunity to work with their plan.

Half an hour later, they all heard the echo of the front door closing downstairs. After making sure the coast was perfectly clear, the toys came out of their positions and started to head into habitual activities. Hamm and Bo met on the floor shortly besides Andy's bed.

"Are you ready?" Bo asked, quietly as to not be overheard. She felt that keeping their plan private for the moment from the others would be the best strategy for them at the moment, as they both felt that avoiding all the fuss inevitably encouraged by the news would be a great advantage for them, especially if they were wanting to keep their antics discreet.

Hamm shrugged, "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Okay," Bo said, motioning slightly towards the door. "We'll need to keep it quiet, though. Only Slinky knows what we're going to do, but if any of the others find out-"

"Yeah, yeah. They'll kick up a fuss, I know," he muttered with a shake of the head as they sauntered towards the bedroom door. "Tell me something I don't know."

They both carried on to the stairs, where they both gazed attentively down them both looking quite anxious to be standing where they were. A small step for a human was a great step for a toy, especially one as fragile as Bo with her porcelain frame. Hamm wasn't much better off either. They weren't like Woody, or even Buzz for the matter. A dodgy fall would be life-threatening.

"Are you sure Mom doesn't have a house-phone in her bedroom?" Bo asked, rather timid at the fear that was starting to gnaw at her confidence. In her hands, her crook was moving ever faster, circling around like a roundabout on rocket-skis.

"No," said Hamm. "Who do you think she is? Alexander Graham Bell?"

Bo settled the situation with a rather addled look, before idly shaking her head. "Well, if you're completely sure about that, then the only other option is to go down these stairs."

"We've gone down them plenty of times before."

She spared a moment in her thought, "Well, we have. But...not without Woody."

_Oh, great. So now the water-works come? _"Then we're just going to have to make the best of what we've got."

"Well...patience _is _a virtue."

Hamm shook his head lamentably. "Enough with the time-wasting. We've got to get down."

And so, at that, the two began the long and winding process of cautiously lowering themselves down and onto each step, careful to make sure they didn't move too quickly as to not trip over their own feet. After an arduous few minutes, they were both down to ground-level feeling both exhausted and drained of energy.

"Well, that was certainly harder than it looked," muttered Hamm on very short breath.

"I wonder how Buzz manages this so often?" Said Bo as she brushed her outfit down, straightening her hat into place.

"Well, now we certainly know that Buzz's bulk isn't just extra fat."

Bo nodded in agreement and then, in unison, they made their way into the living room in search for the house-phone. They'd both been in here in Andy's adventures enough to know that the house-phone could usually be found on a small coffee table near the armchair closest to the window. The prior-knowledge proved to be handy, as they found what they were searching for within only a few short moments.

"There it is," said Bo as they proceeded towards the chair. Only when they arrived did they notice their small dilemma: It would be almost physically impossible for Hamm to climb up it.

"Well this is a bit of a pickle."

"Hang on a second," Bo said, discreetly as though an idea was just occurring to her. "I think I've got an idea."

She retreated a few steps, her sapphire painted eyes fixed deliberately upon her target. Then she made back to the chair and took a great leap. With a small struggle from her own ineptitude, she managed to shuffle onto the couch and lifted to her feet.

Bo smiled at the piggy-bank. "I did it!"

"Well done, Little Bo," commented Hamm with courteous fervour. "You think you can lift me up?"

"Of course..." she said, but there was an obvious doubt in what she was saying from the slight slur to her words. Lowering herself onto her knees at the edge of the cushion she reached for Hamm and, with great difficulty, managed to support him onto the chair besides her.

"My word," she gasped quite suddenly. "I'm sorry, but you are certainly heavier than you look."

Hamm just grinned, "Hey - I've got over six dollars in change here." With a great shake of his belly, there came a metallic rattle of coins from his insides.

Bo averted her eyes towards the telephone. It was perched on the coffee-table besides the chair's arm, charged and ready to be used. After securing her place on the table carefully by climbing up the arm of the chair and crossing to the table, she turned back to Hamm with confidence in her eyes.

"Are you ready?" Asked Bo for the second time that day.

"I guess."

...

"Last boarding call for passengers on flight A-one-thirteen to Gatwick airport to proceed directly to Gate Nine. Final boarding call for all passengers travelling non-stop on flight A-one-thirteen."

Al gave a great sigh and rested back in his seat as the intercom repeated the announcement in different languages, shoving another large handful of greasy crisps into his mouth. Drowsy from the fatigue of two days worth of revoked flights, he took a massive swig of his coffee that had long since gone stale and cold hoping that this would rouse his thoughts into motion. The other night's flight had been cancelled due to excess turbulence throughout the designated course, and the fact that he'd been late for the one the night before had really ground his gears, especially since they'd refused him access being only one minute late for check-in. The last thing he needed was for this night's flight to be delayed. He wanted to get back to the apartment and rest, even if it meant calling on his worst-ability employee to fill in for him for a couple of days.

The joy of the pay-check for his collection had only been short-lived, much to his despair. He'd already spent a fair deal on over-priced hotel rooms, and as almost mugged twice walking freely through the city due to his ineptitude to being in such a vast city and substandard street smarts. Fortunately for him, he'd been at least lucky. None of the them had been either determined or willing enough to knock the plump man off of his feet, so retreated back into the alleyways before Al could come back to his senses and fight back.

"All passengers for flight B7, non-stop to Tri-County International Airport via Far East air-line, please proceed directly to Gate number Eight. That's passengers on flight B7, please proceed directly to Gate Eight."

Al McWhiggan perked his head up as the intercom faded into the hustle and bustle of weary passengers around him waiting for the call to announce their flight was ready to board. He lifted his head as businesspeople and tourists alike around him made to their feet and started to amble towards their designated gates, some reacting hastily to flights already called and the rest making their way towards the gate for the flight to the US. He picked up that he should probably make his way there now, before all the good seats at the gate were taken.

With a dejected sigh, he made to his feet and dispose of his coffee cup in the nearest bin before beginning to head way. The thought of finally being able to rest in his cosy, double-bed at home made him more eager than ever to be back on that flight subconsciously moving his feet faster towards his destination.

Before he got there though, a faint humming from his coat pocket slowed him down. He stopped in place, shocking a family walking behind him having not expected for him to halt so quickly. With a few groans of protest, they circled around him, stealing a disapproving in his direction. Al, however, did not notice for he was fishing through his pocket in search for his phone. He felt slightly troubled; who would be calling him at such a long-ranged distance away?

He answered the phone, "Hello?" he sighed just as he pressed his phone to his ear. "Who is this?"

"This is the number for Al McWhiggan?"

"Yes." Al said warily, before asking again. "Who is this?"

"It's Mr. Konishi… Er - museum manager?"

Al blinked, "Oh, yes. Yes. Mr. Konishi. Um…why would you be calling?"

"Are you still here?" Konishi asked, just as an infant in the distance started howling at the top of its lungs.

Al made a face a clapped a hand over his ear. "What?"

"Are you still here? In Tokyo?"

"Oh - well, yes. I am. But not for long - I've got a plane to catch," Al said rather blearily. "What do you want, anyway?"

"To talk about Business."

A small, disapproving sigh escaped him. "What? Why?"

"Your collection hasn't been doing so well. We had a complaint that some of it was stolen material. Is this true?"

His breathing caught in his throat, his heart officially saluting the American anthem with how idle it felt. How could she…? It wasn't possible, was it? She can't know anything! She didn't even see him take it, nor watch him escape with the goodies on the first flight to Japan. "What the…? Why are you asking this? I've got a plane to catch!"

"Please, I'll pay for travel. We need to talk things over. She keeps calling, and says she'll sue us if we don't give it back."

Al looked anxiously towards the direction he was supposed to be heading, shifting his weight constantly from one foot to the other. "Look, I'll have to talk to you later. I need to catch this flight. I can't afford to miss it."

"I'll pay for everything." Said Konishi, drowsily. "But first we need to sort this out in person, get you to call her and give assurance that the set is not stolen. We need to talk about ratings, too. Can we meet tomorrow morning?"

Throwing his eyes back, Al retaliated. "I already told you, I can't afford to miss this flight."

"And I said I'll give free accommodation. One more night shouldn't be difficult, should it?"

"No," Al said curtly, his hand shaking with the rage to throw his phone right across the airport. "Fine. I'll be there in the morning. Ten on the dot."

"Thank you, sir. Have a pleasant night."

"Whatever."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Team Cowboy.**_

**Chapter Ten**

**Lady Cougar-Trombone: That might just be what's coming his way. ^^ Thank you for the review, and you're welcome of course. I loved your idea. :D  
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**And kudos to Evelyn Knight for an idea she brought up. She'll know what it is when she reads it. ^^  
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_~X~X~X~_

_You've really done it this time. _Woody gave a great, dejected sigh, knowing quite well that tonight's nice bout of depression wouldn't be too eager to deviate any time soon. Jessie's words were chorusing through his thoughts like a perpetual comeuppance and, no matter how hard he tried - how he tried to shrug the deal off, like they meant _nothing at all -_ he couldn't stop thinking about her.

_What if she's right? _He built up the courage to ask himself after a long and arduous silence long after she'd left. _What would that mean for me?_ As the moments droned on and the quiet grew evermore insufferable, the answers only started to blossom into concepts unfathomable, both for him and those he cared about. _No, she can't be right. No-one else is like that; just Pete and Emily. But they're just unfortunate. It could've happened to anyone!_

That's true. _But it happened to her…_

Woody swallowed a dry gulp at the thought. As much as he wanted to deny that wasn't true, he couldn't. It _had _happened to her, and the two friends she thought she could trust were guilty of the unspeakable. Just the thought made Woody's insides stir sickeningly like he was being lifted a thousand feet up and into the skies. If Andy left him the way Emily left Jessie, he wouldn't know what to do with himself - Andy was everything to him. His lucidity bound in one to call a friend.

His reason to live.

His reason to stay.

Then there came Buzz. And Bo. And Slinky. And Rex. Heck, everyone who shared the same reason to live - to breathe, to love, to protect and be loved - as him was a friend until proven otherwise. Until their actions speak the words a single voice alone can never encapsulate. Every toy Andy owned was his friend, just as Jessie had been Pete's friend until the words came knocking on her door.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. _

If Woody's friends turned on him, there would be nothing left of him. He would have _nothing. _Not even spiteful loneliness, for there would have to be something worth missing to feel such despair inside. Just the emptiness.

How must Jessie be feeling?

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

It was something Woody had felt himself when Pete's first true colours started showing into the light. That profound but ever so gentle tapping on his conscience. It had told him he'd lost a potential friend, and his chances of ever escaping such a fate that came dwelling unto them. But he'd had more friends, ones that could rescue him from such distress. One person wasn't the end of the world.

_But what if he was everything?_

"You let her go?_"_ Woody's eyes shot open to their fullest extent as he cocked his head right towards the source of the interrupting voice. Pete was there, his box turned ninety degrees from its original position towards him, with crossed arms. Less time had passed than he thought, for the look of fury in Pete's countenance told the Sheriff Pete had heard everything. The grimy tone of hard rust in his eyes that stared Woody down felt akin to a thousand decrepit daggers striking him where it hurt. When no answer came from the cowboy, the Prospector growled and stepped forward. Right out of his box.

Woody felt his breath stop a moment in surprise, not having expected such an action to ignite from Pete. Woody knew how Pete valued the seclusion and solitude within his box, to such an extent that he'd actually keep himself isolated within it when being faced by the likes of those space toys just across the room. "You let her _go_?!"

"So what if I did?"

"You let her go?" Pete drawled, his eyes wide in infuriated anger. "Why did you do that?"

The Sheriff turned away from him.

"You, listen to me when I'm talkin' to you!" Pete demanded, stalking ever closer to Woody. The Sheriff chances a look back at him, idle in expression and nonchalant to whatever Pete had to say next. Only when he felt the vibes of Pete's fury, did Woody notice the pick-axe clenched in Pete's shaking hands. "I'm to hear of it with you! We get the opportunity of a lifetime, and what do you do? Just look it over like it's nothin'! Now, where is she?"

"What does it matter to you?"

Pete stilled his shaking hands, "That's none of yer business! Now, I'm askin' you this, Sheriff. Where has she gone?"

"If you'd been listening, you'd have heard."

The Prospector breathed heavily in and out to help soothe his thoughts after what he'd just heard. Woody couldn't help but wonder if the conversation between him and Jessie had set him off like this, but further then dismissed this thought; Pete wouldn't care either way if Jessie liked him or not. "I did hear. But ventilations shafts ain't going to answer her problem. Besides, she won't get them open. Not for a weakling like her."

Woody shot him a tempered glance, suddenly now quite reminded of his physical one-armed bicker with the cowgirl. "She seems to think that's the case. But for once you could be right."

"Darn tootin'," grunted Pete. When Woody yet again let his silence speak for itself, Pete angrily straightened his hat and made his way towards the hatch.

"What are you doing?" Woody asked.

"I'm going to bring her back."

The Sheriff's eyes widened to their extent, "What? You can't go after her."

"Just watch me, Sheriff."

…

"That no-good, low-life son-of-a-gun," muttered Jessie anxiously under her breath as she paced back and forth along a small swath of floor shortly before the _Space to the Max_ exhibit, to such that her shoulders brushed the velvet material shadowing the collection from her view as she passed making it waver delicately. Her crossed arms were shaking slightly at the ire brawling within her like a candle's progreny burning with all its might. "Sweet Mother of Abraham Lincoln, I could just - urgh!"

"Take it they've riled your temper, eh?"

Jessie stopped in her tracks. She turned towards the sound of the new voice, briefly considering that Woody might've stalked towards her to guilt her some more from doing something she knew she shouldn't be doing in the first place. However, it wasn't Woody she met, which she must've known from the start for the voice was far too feminine-like to belong to him.

"_Jillian?"_

The space toy cocked an eyebrow. "Yes, it's me. You seem surprised?"

Jessie looked around, perchance in search for some kind of answer to Jillian's presence. "Are you... Are you _following _me?"

"Excuse me?" Jillian asked tensely, as though truly baffled by the question being asked to her. "Why would I-?"

"You've been up to no good ever since we arrived here!" Jessie exclaimed, taking a great step backwards to distance herself from her opponent Jillian reciprocated opposingly by stepping forward hoping to catch the cowgirl in her place. "You all have."

"I'm sorry - I really don't understand," said Jillian, her face shadowed by puzzled thought.

"You understand perfectly well! I bet my horse-shoes on it."

Jillian gestured to dismiss that comment with a small shake of the head. "None of us have done anything," she said, hoping to usher some sense into Jessie's rash thinking. But the cowgirl just stared back, breathing heavily with stilled eyes not too sure what to make of it.

"Then why are you following me?" Jessie asked, speaking each word very carefully as to not pageant any show of vulnerability to her adversary. She was very still, even as she felt the tension within the pool of her stuffing-filled stomach rise to the peak.

"I'm not following you."

"Then why are you out here?" Probed Jessie, almost determined to catch the Navigator out. Jillian, however, was usually quick on her feet when it came to processing plan and strategy so could not be caught off guard as Jessie had hoped.

"The same reason you are, I guess, if I'm right in my thinking."

Hesitantly, Jessie proved, "What _are _you thinking?"

Jillian just offered a benevolent smile, "That you've been around the same few toys for so long you just want to blast them away?" The Navigator sounded hopeful in a way only one with true compassion could be. Jessie's stare remained fixed though like an anchor that had havened deep within its target.

"You know that feeling, then?" Asked Jessie with the utmost caution. She couldn't let her guard down yet; Pete's long and arduous lectures from the past made sure of that.

_Space toys aren't to be trusted. _Jessie let her mouth fall open slightly at the notion sparking to life inside of her. Surely they couldn't all be bad, right? It'd be impossible to meet every toy, and life is full of surprises. You never know what it'll send racing on the tracks next - Woody was the perfect example of that…

"All the time," said Jill. Jessie rested her glare slightly, to such that the hot and verdant threat in her stare became no more than mere curiosity. _What _is_ she like?_ _I'm getting nothing but mixed signals. _"I often feel that they team up on me."

Jessie scoffed, "It's the opposite with me." _Pete and Woody hate each other. And Bullseye's too kind-hearted. _

"Well," Jillian began, almost conventionally as if to settle some long-termed debate. "I'm sorry if they treat you like that. I know it can be a bit of an annoyance, but all you've got is each other in the end."

Jessie raised an eyebrow, "What does that matter?"

"You wouldn't want to spend your time in here frankly loathing each others, would you?"

"I guess not," Jessie said, frowning. "But I can't stand him - or Pete." She said on a whim, barely thinking twice through her temper.

"They're surely not that bad, are they?" Jessie shrugged. "The Sheriff one seemed quite nice. I'd say he's not one for acting rash."

Jessie made a sound short of a bitter laugh, "Then you don't know half of it."

"I bet I-"

"You ill-ridden up-to-no-good blowhard!" Jillian and Jessie turned their heads sharply to the side. Before Jessie could even contemplate further action, the Prospector was lingering dangerously close to her personal space clasping his pick-axe fiercely with shaking palms. "What do you think you're doing! Going off and ruddy meddling around behind our backs!"

"Excuse me-" Jillian started to say in the hopes of kicking some sense into the intruder. Jessie in the meanwhile had her eyes widened by Pete being out of his box. She'd only ever seen him out of it once, and that was when everything she thought she knew about him changed. _He's out of his box? _But the box was his comfort zone - his pride. He wouldn't possibly leave-

"Now just what the hell _were _you thinking? We can't risk losin' a piece of the set! Do you know how that will affect Customer Satisfaction!" Jessie glowered at him determinedly, her eyes just threatening to pierce right into his very core.

"Since when did you care about anyone else?" Jessie demanded, harshly, almost offended by Pete's audacity. "All you care about is yourself! You couldn't care less about me - or Bullseye. You never have. So why don't you just leave my sight before I rip your arms out?"

Pete breathed in and out deeply. Jessie could detect the slight traces of doubt in him - even if only for a split moment - in the way his eyes darted from side to side; in the way his hands around the pickaxe just couldn't seem to stay still. For a moment, a part to him she'd never seen before was vulnerable, almost like he was reverting ever so slowly back into a previous demeanour.

It was strange. Almost made Jessie question the matter. _But that's just not him._ He's just not capable of it, not after what he did to Jessie and Bullseye. She had finally started to believe that, perchance, a better and brighter future wasn't so distant after all…

"You wouldn't _dare_." Pete seethed after a moment of uncertainty.

"Wanna see me try?" Jessie probed, stepping dangerously closer and raising a clenched fist.

Pete's shaking hands stilled around the pickaxe, "I'm warning ya!"

Jessie braced herself to charge forward, but was halted in her tracks by a pair of arms clamping around her waist. "Let me at him!" Jessie protested, struggling to free herself from Jillian's hold. "Let me at him! That horse's end deserves it!"

"Say that again, _Cowgirl."_

"Just calm down, the both of you." Jillian insisted, using all her strength to drag Jessie forcefully away from the partially-shaken Prospector. "You can't fight like this."

"You can't tell me what to do!"

Jillian closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. "I know I can't do that, but please listen to me before you dismember each other." She grunted as she pulled Jessie back and away from Pete. "Can you both do that? Please? If you're going to be here much longer, then you don't want to spend your time constantly looking over your shoulder because of issues in trust, do you?"

Hands continuing to shake, Pete scoffed, "I don't need no trust. Not from them, anyway."

"But that's besides the point," Jillian protested, still clinging onto Jessie fiercely to keep her from lurching forward at the Prospector. But Jessie seemed to want nothing of this, and seemed only persistent to get her hands on him. Jillian feared that if she did - _no, she's fighting with too much spirit _- knew, that if she let Jessie go, there would be nothing of Pete left to whip into shape. Even _with _his pickaxe, he wouldn't stand much of a chance against Jessie's determination and vigour. "We're all in here together. We should be getting along, _not _trying to rip each other's throats out."

"Try telling _her _that." Pete retaliated, prodding the flat end of his pickaxe on the floor.

"She's just aggravated. If we could just give her a minute, I'm sure-"

"I'm not aggravated," said Jessie, halting suddenly. Jillian didn't take this as a particularly decent sign, but released her hold on Jessie and retreated a few steps backwards thinking the worst of it had already passed. For Pete's sake, she hoped it had. "And I do _not _need a minute."

"Now I severely doubt that." Pete said nonchalantly. Jessie fixed her eyes dangerously on him, though he doubted she would further act on her impulses as she remained silent and kept her distance. "She kicks up a fight whenever she has the chance. Don't we, my dear Jessie? Remember our little date with the Sheriff? Why you attacked him one-armed."

Jessie clenched her fists, "He was asking for it," she said, lurching forward again. "And so are _you._"

"My point proven exactly." Pete smiled maliciously as Jillian caught Jessie from around the wrist again, preventing Jessie from coming any nearer.

"Pete!" Barked Jillian, still struggling to keep a firm hold on Jessie. "You see, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Why can't you just both be civil? If you're going to get through this, then you need to work together."

"What's the point?" Jessie probed, distantly as though she were questioning herself rather than any of the other two. "_Stinky Pete's_ just going to wreck it for us. Besides - he's never going to let us. The set wouldn't make it without me - or his _precious _Sheriff."

"I have my pickaxe, don't I?" Pete fondly gestured to his plastic counter-piece.

"Oh, you couldn't hurt a fly with it!"

"I can do whatever the Sam Hell I want to do with it, _Red._"

Jessie scowled, "I stand by what I said. The only thing that's been good for is-" She paused quite suddenly, eyes widened.

"What's wrong?" Jillian asked.

_That can't work… _She closed her mouth, swallowing a very dry gulp. _Pete…he used it to tighten the screws on the vent! _But…it couldn't possibly work, could it? Even as she stared, wide-eyed by the pickaxe much to Pete and Jillian's bewilderment, she couldn't' shake the notion away. That would be too easy…

_But it worked for him. _So why shouldn't it work for her? There definitely was a vent leading out of here - Jillian had already cleared that out for her - so even if it was locked like Jillian and Woody claim, there would surely be no harm in giving it a go, would there? At the end of the day, after all, all they could do is _try. _Even if the attempt did prove futile, then at least they'd know.

"Jessie?"

Jessie blinked, shaking herself free from her reverie. "Yeah?"

The Navigator had one eyebrow arched at her, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," muttered Jessie with a voice far off in the distance. "I'm fine. I think I'll just head back now."

…

"Do you think it worked?"

Hamm looked up to Bo shortly after the phone-line died out, not expecting the silence to be broken so soon. The phone-call had left them both feeling uneasy and anxious inside, for it was their first true experience in directly communicating with humans. Albeit unnatural for a toy, they were both eager to know if their attempts had proved successful and, rest assured, helpful in Woody's case.

"I don't know," Hamm said, simply. "He didn't really give us an outspoken answer."

Bo sighed, "You could be right, Hamm. He did sound rather uncertain when I was speaking to him, but he was as helpful as he could be."

"That could be questioned," Bo raised a questionable eyebrow. "Well - he does sound quite pretentious. Remember when we first questioned him about the Woody's Roundup set? He said immediately that the news was bringing customers into his museum." he arched an eyebrow/ "But who would find a collection of rag-dolls intriguing? They don't even have knees," said Hamm, shuddering mentally at the thought.

"I know… Well - now that I think about it, he sounded very certain about it," she muttered anxiously, her crook turning round-and-round in her hands. _Perhaps he was wrong? Woody's not a collector's item! He's meant for a child - for _Andy."Oh - I just don't know what to make of it. I don't think he'll let Woody go, but he has to - right?"

"Well, sure," said Hamm at a loss of what to say.

"I mean - he can't just _keep _him. What cruel-hearted person would ever do such a thing?" she murmured, sounding very uncertain og herself as she spoke. "No - no-one would do that. Not someone at least half-humane, not after what we told him. He'd have to be someone like that awful man who stole Woody. He has to let Woody go."

"_Well-_" Hamm started to say, but wavered off with what he was saying when he thought better of it. He _could _correct Bo and point her in the right direction with her thinking, but he knew that now was no time for that. The best he could offer her now was comfort and assurance, no matter how deceiving the lies could be. "I'm sure you're right. But try not to worry about it, that never helps. What happens, happens."

"Maybe you're right," Bo drawled, a frown perched upon her lips. "I could be worrying too much. Buzz will get to him, right? He always does."

_You're wrong there. _Perhaps from the dog when Buster decides to bury Woody in the yard, or in a game of hide 'n seek, but not from Al; Buzz hadn't managed that. And the chances were just the same that Buzz won't make it to them this time, as well.

For all he knows, Woody may never come back.

"I'm sure he will."

…

"Sixteen," said Mrs. Potato-Head with a great air of enthusiasm as she glanced at the blue coloured paper card pulled from a pile. "Does anybody have a number sixteen?"

The rest of the toys around her groaned wearily, far too sick of this bingo-styled board game to concentrate properly, all apart from Rex who eagerly lifted one stunted arm into the air.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh!" he did a little sort of impatient dance on his feet as he waited to be acknowledged. "You sunk my battleship!"

Mr. Potato-Head groaned loudly, "We're playing Bingo, Godzspilla - _not _Battleships! And you didn't even lose!"

"Now, now, dear," soothed Mrs. Potato-Head calmly as Rex whimpered slightly in his innocent little way. Potato-Head made an displeased noise. "Let him celebrate! This is such an exciting game after all!"

The spud rolled his eyes, almost glancing left for a minute expecting to spot Hamm readying himself to make some sort of sarcastic comment on the matter. Surprisingly, he was not there to share in with the same _pointless_misery he was. _That was odd…_

He frowned, "Where's-"

"Ooh! Do I get a prize?!" asked Rex excitedly, dancing on the spot.

"Yes, dear - you're the next host!" She smiled at Rex as he eagerly gaited, muttering fervently, to her spot just before Andy's bed, and cavalierly made her way to Rex's board. With a nice little smile, she swept the playing pieces off the board to start the game anew.

"Oh, I've never hosted a game before!" Rex elucidated, throwing his hands in the air. "This is going to be so exciting!"

"Not at this rate," Potato-Head muttered under his breath, earning him a tempered glare from his counterpart wife.

"Has everybody cleared their boards?" he asked, glancing around the players to check everything was in order before continuing. "Okay, now I just need to add these used cards to this pile here and… Ah! My arms are too short!"

"Oh, what's the point?" Mr. Potato-Head proclaimed, groaning very loudly. "He can't even pick the cards up, never mind read what's on them! A pre-school toy could do better!" Again, he averted his bulging eyes to the left expecting Hamm to have some kind of a back-up comment on the situation, but was slightly puzzled when he saw his best-pal had still not arrived. "Hey - where's Hamm? I haven't seen him all morning…" he muttered, distantly, before a vicious scowl shook his face. "He should be here!"

"I haven't seen him, either." said Slinky. The rest of the toys looked his way, for this was the first time he'd spoken since the second round of the game (he'd been short in the running that game, with some very bad luck).

"That's strange. Usually he's beating us all."

"I'm sure he's just busy, dear," reasoned Mrs. Potato-Head. Her husband however seemed to want nothing of it. Something was off with Hamm's absence - and he was going to find out what. Hamm never missed a game.

"Doing what? There's nothing _to _do."

"Well - Bo said to me that she needed Hamm to help her find her sheep," Slinky lied. In truth, he had a hunch at where they could be. Bo had mentioned only last night that she needed Hamm's assistance with her plan to help Woody, but he didn't think that alerting the rest of the toys of their schemes would help them at all. It would only kick up a riot, especially when it came to some of the toy's egos. So, for now, he decided to remain hushed on the matter.

Unfortunately for him, his twist to the truth hadn't been thought out well enough.

Mrs. Potato-Head gasped, "He's helping her find her sheep?"

"Oh, no!" Rex exclaimed. "What is she doing?"

"What are you talking about?" Slinky asked. He'd basted commotion and disorder into the situation without even realizing it, so was confused when the anarchy was carried out further. "She asks Woody to help her all the time!"

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!" Rex sputtered in absolute hysterics. "Oh, poor Woody! She must think Buzz isn't coming back!"

Slinky couldn't help but raise a questionable brow, "What?"

Potato-Head grinned, "Now I didn't realize Bo was such the promiscuous type."

"Darling!" His wife scalded. "Show a little compassion!"

"How could she be cheating on him?!"

"Technically - it's not an affair if the love-bug doesn't come home. She's just moving on, embracing the moment. I say good on her." Mr. Potato-Head grinned arrogantly, crossing his arms. "It's probably best for her, if Woody's not coming back. She can't mope forever.""Woody's not coming back?!" Rex asked fretfully, his shaking arms very closely packed in his worry. "But he has to come back! He's our leader, what will we do without him? Oh - it's all hopeless!"

Slinky stepped forward in between the three, "Hang on a sec, you guys! What are you all talking about? Bo's not cheating on Woody - why would she do that?"

"You ask me," the spud chortled. "But I say she's always had a thing for marshalling pigs."

"Bo's a Shepherdess, dear, not a rancher," said Mrs. Potato-Head.

"Whatever."

The slinky-dog shook his head, unsettling his coils slightly, "So you think she's cheating on Woody…with _Hamm?_"

"Well she chose Woody didn't she? And he has an ego."

Slinky blinked, "She'd never leave Woody!"

Rex seemed to settle slightly at that, and now looked more inquisitive than worried, "She's not? But you said Hamm was helping her find her sheep-"

"So that's what this is all about-?"

"Look!" Rex exclaimed suddenly, prodding a minute arm in the direction of Andy's door. "There they are!"

"Well, hush." Mrs. Potato Head shushed as she turned left towards the door. There Bo and Hamm were, slowly beginning to make their way towards them talking to one another, seeming not to have noticed yet the uneasy tension between the rest of the toys. She didn't know whether to wave or turn away from them, so instead she did neither. "They don't know we know."

"Well, should we tell them?" Rex exclaimed, his dotted eyes wide and worried as he bobbed on his feet.

"No - they'll just deny it." she muttered, hooking a thoughtful finger underneath her chin. "We have to keep our distance, watch them from afar…"

Dejectedly, Slinky rolled his eyes, "Guys - they're not-"

Mrs. Potato-Head's eyes jolted wide, "They're coming this way! Quick, everyone, pretend you're bingo-ing." She insisted, dropping her head down to her bingo board in deep concentration.

"But-" Slinky started to say, but saw from her obstinate attentiveness that his attempt would be futile. "Oh, forget it."

…

Jessie lifted herself back into the display unit, feeling hope for the first time that she's finally figured out a plan to get out of this place once and for all. The thought that she can finally make amends with Bullseye was like a spark in her heart and, at this time in crisis, this was just the hope she needed.

"How did it go?" asked Woody with a benevolent smile. Jessie slowly but ascertainably averted her attention to him as Pete followed her shortly through.

"Well - I discovered one thing with my night," said Jessie nonchalantly. She walked back over to Bullseye, already awoken and anxious to see her again, and sat by his side.

Woody eyed her debatably, "And what's that?"

"You're not alone."

"Excuse me?"

Jessie chortled, "You're not alone in this - I understand now. Pete's on your side, too. I just never noticed before."

"What are you talking about?" Pete demanded, eyeing Woody and Jessie with a darkened look in his eyes. Bullseye cocked his head up at Jessie's side, fearing what would happen next.

Woody, however, felt like he'd just been slapped, "Jess, if this is about-"

"Oh, just save your excuses, Woody," Jessie sighed. "I'm up to my neck in 'em."

"Look, I want to get out of here just as much as you do, but if you think toying with the odds is going to get us there, it isn't. So just stop, will you?"

Jessie looked unfazed, "So that's it? You'd rather not take the chances and rot in here? Does your kid mean _nothing _to you?"

Her words struck him like a rusty blade into the heart, right where it hurt. His mouth closed, then opened and closed again. Whatever words he was trying to conjure, whatever argument he was fighting desperately to shoot back, just wouldn't come. For the first time in his life, he really and truly was speechless.

Jessie smirked, feeling she's got the better of him now, "Hurts, doesn't it? That's how I felt when I winded up second-handed. I shouldn't have let Emily go - she didn't know what she was doing - I should have followed her, chased her down to my last breath. I could have been there for her, for her kids, for her grandchildren. But instead I let her leave me behind, just like how Pete let himself wait for so long without just going for it, without just jumping in someone's cart and hoping for the best-"

"Hey!" Proclaimed Pete, stiffly clutching his pickaxe. "Don't you dare! You have no right to be saying that!"

Her smirk widened; she was getting through to them. When she looked away from Pete, she met Woody's eyes. "You don't want to make the same mistake I did," she said, the grin never dying. "You're just too yellow to admit it. But you'll regret it soon enough. I promise you that."

_If I could just get through to them… _She didn't care how much in ailed her to act this way - like she almost didn't care - she just wanted to hit him where it hurt. Then, finally, he might listen…

Noticing how baffled he was, she rested back and patted Bullseye soothingly on the neck. Pete just watched, he too quite thunderstruck.

"One for me - zero for Team Cowboy," she muttered as Woody sat lost in his silence.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Team Cowboy.**_

**Chapter Eleven**

_~X~X~X~_

The next morning came by quicker than Jessie hoped it would. For the first time since arriving at this Museum, she awoke with brighter hopes for the day ahead. Finally, she had a plan. All she needed now was Pete's pickaxe, and she could retrieve this easily enough whilst Pete was sleeping at night. Then, she would check that vent, get it open and, finally, catch a glimpse of what was on the other side. If she was lucky - and the chances were in her favour - then that was her ticket to escape.

She just needed this exact opportunity. That was all she needed, if she wanted to get Bullseye out of here. She didn't care about the personal cost, how severe or shocking they might happen to be, as long as she could go through with this for him.

"Another day," Pete articulated as the caretakers busied themselves with readying the _Space to the Max _display after their own curtains had been parted. "Just great."

Jessie couldn't resist the slightest smile. She had every chance of getting out of here, and Pete was miserable. What more could she ask for?

A few moments passed in silence, waiting for the next day to begin. Jessie heard a shuffling by her side from Woody uneasily shifting on the spot. She risked a small glance to her side, where she spotted him standing limp and idle against his support stand, smiling that same inanimate smile she'd expected to see from the very first day she'd heard of Woody's Roundup. Ever since she found out about Japan, she awaited a day just like this. Standing behind glass, next to Woody and Bullseye and Pete, just waiting. For what - or why - she didn't know. She believed admiration - or renown or _ardour - _were thrown about in there somewhere.

The museum doors opened to the public. Within minutes, persons from all walks of life came sauntering in. The previous days were retold. Everything felt the same to her, like someone had reiterated the first day over and over again.

_But this has to be different._

Clickedy-click.

_It's going to be different. I just know it will be! _

The flashing lights continued to snap and click, blinding the set with ensnaring white light. This was nothing like she had anticipated. Not at all.

"I never liked Western films."

Then, these exact words were said in a different language. By a child.

_Just a few hours. That's all. Then you're free!_

"Whoa! It's Space to the Max! I love this show!"

She could literally feel vibes of utter abhor emanate from Pete, but still he remained motionless in the spot.

The rest of the day proceeded as followed.

…

The office-room doors ahead of Konishi crashed open.

"What's this all about?" demanded a furious Al at ten o'clock on the dot that morning, heavy bags drooping underneath his eyes and his glower distasteful as he caught Konishi's eye. Konishi stood up from his desk, fixing the creases in his suit with the palm of his left hand seeming quite unfazed.

"Ah, Mister McWhiggan, you came," said Konishi courteously, offering his hand in kind gesture. Al blinked blankly at him and stopped in his tracks; he hadn't expected this kind of a reaction from him at all.

"Sure as heck I did!" Al marched right up to Konishi's desk, leaning forward quite considerably into the manager's personal space. "I had to miss my flight because of this! And I can't sleep on Japanese time, not with my body-clock. So you better have a good reason for dragging me all the way out here."

Waiting a minute to make sure Al's said the last of what he was going to say, Konishi composed himself quite formally, brushing down a small crease in his suit. Al scowled. _These darn businessmen. They think they know everything! _"My apologies for causing you any inconvenience, sir, but as you know, I invited-"

"More like blackmailed-"

Konishi smiled at him sincerely, "_I _invited you to come here today so we can sort the matter brought to my attention yesterday. I'm sure you remember what it is, Mister McWhiggan." Al folded his arms dejectedly, reluctant to talk. "We talked about it only last night."

A snobbish smirk stretched wickedly upon Al's face, "Well, unfortunately, I don't have much of a memory. So you better start reminding me, pal."

"Very well," Konishi said calmly, seeming to take the matter only lightly. "A woman from the United States contacted me yesterday-"

"You've already said this!"

"-claiming that one of the collectibles in your set was stolen."

"Lies! She has no evidence!" Al exclaimed, standing quite suddenly knocking Konishi's desk back slightly. The manager was taken aback by this, and almost fell backwards in his own seat until he regained some hold on his chair.

"Mister McWhiggan!" Konishi articulated. "What is the meaning of this? I do not understand-"

"That person was lying! I wouldn't do such a thing! I'll have you know I'm a very kind and respectable man!"

"Perhaps so," said Konishi, unfazed by Al's provocative demeanour. "But there's still the problem with that woman and her toy."

"What do I care? You brought me here for that?!" demanded Al, groaning and leaning dangerously back in his seat. "It's a stupid toy. She should learn to get over it."

The manager tilted his head to the side, "I fear she might sue my company."

"Not my problem."

"That would result me in suspending your collection immediately from display-"

Al cocked his head, "_What? _You can't do something like that!" he exclaimed, as though he'd just been stuck at the wrong end of the most personal insult. With widened and gorging eyes from Konishi's words, he touched the legs of the chair to the ground.

"I might have to resort to that-"

"You will not!" The manager blinked in response to the sudden outburst, for the first time quite unfazed by Al's doings. "Do you understand how much that set means? Do you _understand _how long I had to work to complete that collection?" Al breathed in and out deeply, like a ravenous predator recovering from chase. "_Well? _Do you? Decades worth of searching and looking! Back when I had hair and a permitted library membership!"

"I know you've had trouble, sir - all the collectors did."

"But that's not the point!" Al intercepted. "I worked my butt off for this set, and you are not getting rid of them that easily! No way!"

The smile on Konishi's face wavered slightly. "Well, you see, that's the problem we have, sir."

"Huh?"

"My company have had numerous complaints from customers who think that - well - the collection is incomplete."

Al blinked. "_What?_"

"One customer told me personally that he thought a brand of merchandise was missing from the set."

"What are talking about?" questioned Al, disgruntled. "That makes no sense. Of course I have all the set! All the issues of the magazines, every single video, the music soundtrack records, the Woody's Roundup encyclopaedia's, the dolls, the comics and even a god-damn yoyo! You just name _it._"

His small smile as persistent as ever, Konishi reached down and pulled open one of his desk drawers. Al watched him sceptically, "What are you doing?" he asked, perplexedly.

"Just retrieving something you might find of interest."

Al raised a brow. "Like what?"

"Ah," muttered Konishi, successfully locating what he'd been looking for and pulling it free. Closing the drawer and looking back to Al, he passed a small parchment across the desk. "This."

"What is it?"

"A customer filled in a form at the exit yesterday," he said. "It asks our customers for their opinions on our displays."

The man seemed unfazed, "So?"

"Well, this _man _was the customer who thought your collection was incomplete."

"But it's not!" exclaimed Al.

"Just read this," Konishi said, promptly. Reluctantly, Al snatched the document off of the manager and levelled it underneath his eyes with his grubby fingers. His waterlogged eyes darted from side to side, his brows crunching together in disbelief.

After a moment, he said, "I can't read this! I don't read Japanese."

Konishi nodded and seized the paper from him with a small smile. "My mistake, mister. He said he thought there was a selection of merchandise missing from the set."

"It's not missing anything!"

"Products released after the show was cancelled."

"What products?" Al probed, lifting an eyebrow looking very confounded. Though he tried not to seem too insulted by the bizarre claims this man was making, he couldn't help but feel truly disgraced inside. He'd spent many years of his life on this project. How would he be missing - or, for the matter, not know what it was - something? I have everything there's there to get! Don't tell me I'm missing something!"

Konishi waited until after he was sure Al was finished with his rant before coughing lightly into his fist, "Apparently - now I don't know if this is true - the writers of the show admitted afterwards that they had plans to pair two of the main characters together from your collection." Al blinked incredulously. Konishi studied the document in his hands further. "1968 apparently."

"Pete and Bullseye?" probed Al, drawing back slightly. "That's sick! Who would pair them?"

"Not them - an apparent Woody and Jessie, according to this customer. I'd advise you take further caution into this matter, Mister McWhiggan. I wouldn't want to have to demand my money back."

The furious man shook his head, "Thanks a lot. I missed my plane and for_ what_? Just to deal with this?" Al stood up, shifting the desk back towards Konishi by a couple of inches. The deliberated acrimony in his eyes was now perilously close to resentment as he stared the manager down. "I've had it. I'll go check the collection myself, shall I, and prove that everything is where it should be?"

"If you wish, sir, but I highly-"

"Then, good day!" Exclaimed Al, colliding his fist with the table. Before the manager could even think of a protest, Al was charging away from him towards the office door. And then, only after a split moment, the office door was slammed to a shut and Al was gone, out of sight.

Konishi shrugged, and then began to straighten the piles of paperwork on his desk with an habitual cheer.

…

_Clickedy-click. _

"_What _was he talking about?" came an outburst from near the exhibit doors. Several people stepped back from the commotion, eyes puzzled and expressions slightly agape as a plump, raging, blundering man stormed through into the exhibit room, completely outraged with his hands folded across his chest. "What does he think? Damn it - I'll show _him._"

At the corner of Woody's eye, he caught the slightest glimpse of the last person he expected to see.

A mental cordon dropped completely inside him, flushing him with the urge to regenerate and blink cynically at the sight. _It's Al… _Exactly as Woody remembered him. In the same fifties-styled stain-dyed shirt and pants that were perhaps one size too small for the very stout businessman. The only detail that seemed any different from how Woody remembered him from a few nights before was the fact that Al was perhaps still shunning the shower he'd meant to get almost four nights before. Woody could practically _smell _him, even from within the display case.

"That's right. And he'll be sorry he ever crossed me," snorted Al, shunting his way through a group of small children. Many glowers were stolen in his direction, but he took little to no notice of this. It was time to get down to business. "I'll show him!"

Only after a split moment was he there, standing apoplectically before his very own set of collectibles. Woody felt nerves rise within him - this wasn't right. Al shouldn't be back. No - he should be thousands of miles away from here, covered in cheese puffs and passed out on the couch. Not here, especially, cross and serious and staring at the toys like he even he couldn't fathom what ludicrous acts he might do next.

Al was definitely up to something, and it was up to Woody to find out.

He shook his head, clenching his fists together tightly. "I'll show h-" Al went to say, but was stopped in his tracks when he was caught by his sleeves and hauled very unwillingly to the sides.

"What-?" It was a security guard, come to ward him away from the civilians. Al stared at him, bewildered. "What are you doing?"

The security guard started to usher him away towards the exit, yelling at him in a language Al clearly didn't understand. He persisted in throttling himself from side to side in attempt to release himself from this man's grip, but to no avail. The guard was too strong.

"What are you doing?!" Al demanded, now anxious to escape. The guard did nothing but retaliate him in Japanese. "Let me go! I don't speak Japanese!" Al cocked his head over his left shoulder, looking back at _Woody's Roundup _with a very vacuous lustre in his eyes. "I said let me go! Do you know who you're messing with?"

A couple turned their heads in the direction of Al and the security guard. Undoubtedly, they were rather perplexed by the situation seeming only to vaguely understand what was going on. Puzzled at the sight, they shrugged and stalked away in the opposite direction wanting little to do with the happenings. It turned out they weren't the only ones acting by that motion, for there were several flustered and busy parents now ushering their children away from the area to not be witness to such atrocious behaviour.

"I said let go of me!" Al retorted, finally weaselling his way free from the guard's grip. He gyrated around abruptly in disgust, a wicked scowl perched on his face frowning at the man across from him. Al balled his fists, about to retaliate under the guard stepped forward in warning. "Okay! Okay! I'm going! I'm going!" Exclaiming Al, groaning and turning away.

Konishi was standing right in front of him.

"Konishi?" Al muttered in surprise, balling his fists together even harder. "What are you doing here? I thought _you _were too busy dealing with customer complaints?"

"I just happened to walk by and heard all this commotion by this exhibit," said Konishi.

Al folded his arms, "Don't make an idiot about me. You know this is the only exhibit room on the floor!"

Konishi just smiled, shaking his head at the security guard when he tried to advance on Al. Speaking a few words to him in Japanese, the guard briskly nodded and stalked away.

"What seems to be the problem?" The Manager asked.

"I just came over here to see how you _set_ all this stuff up," said Al distastefully. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all," Konishi said. "In fact, I'd be glad to let you come privately after hours to examine them for yourself."

Al grimaced, "_Fine. _That's what I'll do," he said, walking backwards towards the exit. "You see me? I'm leaving. Coming back _later."_

"See you then," said Konishi with a courteous smile.

He turned around, cursing under his breath as the Roundup Gang anxiously watched him walk away and out of their sights.

…

"Now, if you'll all look to your left, you'll spot the Kaiba Industrial Warehouse." Several oohs and ahs emanated from the impressed crowd as they all looked left out of the vehicle window and to a small squared section of land where a construction service was perched working hard around an even smaller boxed building. "This company was founded in the late nineteenth century by a one Konotao Kaiba with the initial intention to supply power and electricity all throughout Japan," continued the tour-guide, standing at the very front of the tour-bus in her black and white uniform.

As the bus came to a small stop in the road, she reiterated the entire saying again in a variety of other different languages. Meanwhile, Buzz was forced to brace himself very determinedly against the halting motion of the vehicle as he slid slightly across the floor, afraid he'd skid quite unwillingly right from his hiding place underneath the bus seats. In a frantic panic to regain stability, he clambered forward on his knees to the back leg of the bus seat, holding tight to keep steady.

"Unfortunately," the tour-guide went on to say. "Due to the introduction of frequent and more successful corporations in recent years, demand for this company's resources became limited to only upstate Tokyo. Currently, an extension of the building is under construction in order to replace their main power server in future times."

Then, she iterated herself in all the other languages. Meanwhile as the bus set back in motion, Buzz was forced to hold on even dearer to keep himself steady.

"Now, if you'll look ahead, you'll find Tokyo Football stadium…"

"Mommy?" A small girl asked. Buzz judged she must be only a few seats away from him. "When will we get to the Toy Museum? I want to see the toys!"

"Not until the end of the day, sweetie," replied the mother. Buzz strained to hear what they would say next, though took caution to keep himself steadily in place. "There's a lot left to see on this trip."

Buzz jerked forward slightly as the bus hit a bump in the road. A slight scampering and scurry of feet began to echo as the bus's halted motion continued to carry forward from underneath the seat right into the aisle.

His inner sense went berserk, flurrying madly when his cover was stripped from him. Only when the bus had come to a complete stop did he truly come to his senses, and realize the dreadful predicament he was a mere moment away from entering.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Exclaimed a child's voice. Only after a few moments, did Buzz catch sight of a small girl bending down to take him In her arms. "A Buzz Lightyear! You said these were all sold out!"

Buzz spotted the mother only a few moments later, slowly standing up from her seat paying little visual attention to the girl. "Yes, that's lovely, Keira. Just get ready to go," she said, watching the rest o the passengers make to their feet and step into the aisle to head down to the bus's exit. "We're getting off now."

"Okay, Mommy," said the girl with a small cheer. Buzz's panic senses were overloading, and soon were out of control by the time the girl unzipped a rucksack by her side. "I'm going to take you home with me," the girl whispered happily to the Space Ranger. "We're going to have so much fun! I have all the other Star Command toys!"

Then, before Buzz could even fully acknowledge what had just happened, the girl named Keira tossed him into her rucksack, and zipped her back up. Alongside her mother, she moved into the aisle to head down the bus, almost walking into several other children as she went along.

…

"Oh…don't you just feel a little bit bad for spying on them?" Rex asked timidly, dancing around anxiously on the spot.

Mrs. Potato-Head waved the notion off with a small shake of her head, "Nonsense, love. We're not spying on them, this is perfectly acceptable." She said, not averting her eyes from the duo as they played chess at the far end of the room by Andy's drawers.

"But they just want to play their game in peace!" he said in a frantic whisper. His pin-point eyes were fretful and worried, like he didn't agree with their practices one bit. "I feel like I'm intruding on their privacy!"

"Then just go and I'll look on my own," she said, nonchalantly. "I don't mind if you stay or not. I'm just wondering why they're playing their game alone."

"It's only a two-player game."

"But _why _are they playing it together?" asked Mrs. Potato-Head thoughtfully, rubbing her chin with her finger. "They could play the game with any of us."

"Aw, just forget it, will ya?" Mrs. Potato-Head and Rex turned towards the source of the new voice to spot Mr. Potato-Head joining their sides. "Besides, they're the only two in this room who know how to play that game. They're just passing the time."

"But _together?"_ she questioned of the matter, frowning slightly. "I just don't get it. I know it's none of my business, but why is she moving on so quickly? Does she not think that Buzz will bring Woody back?"

Mr Potato-Head chortled, "You've got me. No one knows what on earth she's thinking half the time."

Regrettably, Mrs. Potato-Head sighed, slowly averting her eyes away from Hamm and Bo and turning towards her counterpart husband. "But she wouldn't think _that _would she? That Buzz isn't going to bring Woody back?" she sighed heavily, crossing her arms like she happened to know better of the situation. "Bo's out of her mind to think Woody isn't going to bring Woody back. Buzz always brings Woody back, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," satirized the spud. "From the dog in the yard, perhaps. _Not _from Japan. They've gotta be a hundred miles away from here at least!"

"Actually - the exact distance is more around six-thousand-five-hundred miles - depending on the route you take, of course," said Hamm, who suddenly appeared at Mr. Potato-Head's side. "Though, I'd have to say, you'd probably be travelling farther on a flight depending on the latitude of the wind."

The three of them were gaping at Hamm with open expressions, not having expected him to appear so suddenly in the slightest. "Hamm?" Probed Mrs. Potato-Head, blinking at who she was seeing.

"What are you doing here?" asked Rex very anxiously.

Hamm stared back mutually, puzzled. "What am _I _doing here?" he iterated as he blinked. "I don't get it."

"You weren't here just before!" Rex exclaimed, walking backwards slightly like he'd just seen a ghost. Fortunately, this wasn't the slightest bit new to Hamm. Rex can easily be scared of his own reflection. "You were playing checkers with Bo! You weren't here!"

Hamm arched an eyebrow. "Guys, were you spying on me?"

Mr. Potato-Head stepped in. "What?" he iterated, chortling with exaggeration. "That's absurd! We wouldn't spy on you! Never!" he proclaimed as he threw a very impetuous glare in his wife's direction. "That's just ludicrous."

"Yeah," Mrs. Potato-Head concurred. "We weren't spying on you. We were - uh…." -she caught sight of Andy's bookcase beyond the checkers board- "Trying to see what kinds of books Andy has! We're all in a reading mood at the moment."

Shifting his head slightly to wear Mrs. Potato-Head was pointing, Hamm frowned, "Then why didn't you just walk over there? The bookcase is only across the room. You _can _just walk over there, you know?"

Mrs. Potato-Head's oval-like eyes widened to their extent. Casting them to her husband, she abruptly took his hand and stuttered, "Can't talk now, Hamm, we have to see the children. Quick, quick, quick!" Mrs. Potato-Head had already made it her business to 'adopt' and mother the three new aliens toys in Andy's room. Ever since then (bar from obsessing about the interaction between Bo and Hamm), she hadn't been able to keep her eyes off of them. "They need parent-child bonding time!"

The two of them were off like a shot, an anxious Rex chasing off behind them. "Hey, guys, wait! Don't leave me behind!"

The piggy-bank stared off after them not too sure what to make of the previous occurrence. Eventually, after a few moments of hesitation, he decided to mentally resolve the matter and shook his head. Turning around, he headed in the opposite direction, almost walking straight into Bo.

"Bo?" Said Hamm, suddenly. She paused quickly in her tracks, having not been looking where she was heading. "I thought you were going to Molly's room?"

Bo blinked, shaking her head, "No - the door's closed, unfortunately." Bo muttered heavy-heartedly. She stilled her hands around her blue crook, planting it firmly in place, allowing Hamm the time to notice that she was no longer fiddling with the ends. _She's finally starting to calm down? _"I guess I'll just have to spend the rest of my time in here." She turned her head slightly in the direction of where Mr. and Mrs. Potato-Head had just left Hamm's presence. "Do they know? You know, of what we're doing?" she asked, perhaps afraid that Hamm had let something slip.

"What?" Hamm probed. "No. They don't know a word. At least, I don't think so - unless Slinky let something slip. Though…they have been acting very strange."

"Do you think they're coming onto us?"

"There's nothing to lead them on," said Hamm, sighing. "But I don't know. They've done stranger things. You should see how they play Cluedo. It's Professor Plum every time - because they don't like his bow-tie, I believe. Not to mention how they always seem to be comparing me up to Freddie the garden gnome."

Bo tilted her head, "Well, you've definitely got a point there."

"Tell me about-"

A piercing ringing echoed from downstairs, cutting through what Hamm had to say. With a very curious glint in his expression, he looked back to Bo who seemed to be questioning the same matter as he. "Is mom home?"

Hamm shrugged, "I don't think so. She should be shopping, I think."

A quiet moment passed between them. Then, just as Hamm was ready to walk away and challenge Slinky to a game of chess, Bo's cerulean eyes jolted to their extent. "Hamm, do you think it could be the museum manager?" she asked in a very careful whisper, in case anyone should be nearby to overhear them.

"It could be."

"Did he say he'd call back?" Bo asked hopefully.

"I have no idea," Hamm admitted, looking completely stumped. They both did remain stumped for a moment in contemplation, until the ringing eventually diminished.

"That could have been him…" Bo said insightfully. "I think one of us should wait by the house-phone - in case he should call us back."

"Okay. But what about the others?" Hamm questioned, raising a brow. "I think they're starting to get suspicious of us."

Bo frowned in her thought. Then, a few moments later in a sudden spark of rejuvenation, looked back to Hamm, "I'll go. You can tell them I'm looking for my sheep."

"But your sheep are with the aliens-"

"_I _don't know that," said Bo with a flattering wink, starting to walk away.

Hamm sighed dejectedly, and ambled off in the opposite direction.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Team Cowboy.** _

**Chapter Twelve**

**A/N Yikes - I'm so sorry! The year's just flown by so quickly, and I've just been so much of a procrastinator it's untrue. **

**This chapter's reasonably short (and moronic :P), though it was originally a segment of a much larger chapter that I feared would bore you all to death (it the soporific quality of this one doesn't already). **

**I hope you enjoy it. Have a nice day. :D A/N**

_~X~X~X~_

The exhibit doors closed on that business day. Pete, with an air of irritable anxiety, looked agitatedly from side to side, as though concerned that something would jump out from right behind the corner any minute now. To some extent convinced that all was well, he pushed forward and stepped out of his box, almost catching Bullseye at his rear end as he trotted to the side. Jessie was still stood by her stand.

"What was _he _doing here?" he asked, breathing heavily as though internally exhausted. "He's not supposed to be here! He's supposed to be a thousand miles away!"

"How am I supposed to know?" Woody demanded, beginning to shake out of his lifeless state. "He just turned up here - I don't know why."

Pete dropped his eyes to his plump hands, now coming to realise he wasn't holding the pickaxe he usually took everywhere. He looked up to Woody, lost at what to think. "Then what in Sam Hell can he be up to?" He started to shake his head and walk, idly, over to the front of the display unit, facing his own reflection in the glass. _Had he always been that round? _"That Konishi feller better not be up to no good."

Woody, exasperated though still slightly unsettled, rolled his eyes, "What can he be up to, Pete? Chances are he just wants to see how his _golden _selection is getting on."

"No," Pete repudiated, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. "I've known that man for the best part of m'life. He was up to something. Somewhere along the lines he set his boot on the wrong turf, and now he's sweeping up the dirt behind him try'na get himself out of it."

"What does it matter anyway?" Jessie asked, speaking up for the first time in a very controlled manner. Woody and Pete looked to her, each beginning to forget what they were going to proudly claim next. "What's the worst that could happen? We're already stuck here - the only thing he can do is get us out, right?"

Woody blinked to motion that train of thought, but was distracted again before he could muster what was on his mind. "You honestly still believe in all that no-good wasting superstition?" Pete inquired. When Jessie did not answer in her stunned silence, his eyes rolled to the back of his head like he was one more pathetic word away from fainting. "What's the point in try'na fight it? There is _nothing _out there for you! _Nothing. _Do you understand?"

Jessie gawked at him one moment longer, hesitatingly looking from Pete and down to her boots again like she wasn't too sure whether to indignantly rectify Pete or to clobber him one right on the noggin. She shifted impatiently, and tried to find her voice of reason. "You're wrong."

Pete snorted disdainfully, "Yeah, am I?"

"You _are."_

"What do you have?" She tried to interrupt, but was claimed hostage to one second of unprecedented hesitation from that slithering sneer on his face. Woody glanced from Pete to Jessie, not sure who to believe at this moment in time. Woody had Andy to think about and, while he was fighting this constant logic battle between Pete's probable righteousness and Jessie's determination to block every single one of Pete's words out, his thoughts seemed scattered and disconnected, almost as if the primal instinct every toy had to keep their internal existence a secret was closing in on him and pressuring him from the outside. He felt he couldn't move, trapped like a rat and unable to do anything about it.

It's the most inept he's ever felt.

He hated that feeling, so then endeavoured to take a sudden interest to how bronze the new paintwork had made his boots. It was really quite fascinating.

"That's right." Pete cackled. "Outside of this glass, you don't have squat. You don't have your precious little Emily anymore. She's gone. She _went. _Dropped you off in some stupid box and left, like you were nothing."

Jessie withdrew herself, an inkling within her convincing her that distance would diminish the truth in his words. "You're wrong," she said simply, but her words came out drudgingly, almost as though she were trying to speak around a mouthful of stale syrup. "Emily loved me."

"Oh, my poor dear Jessie..." She inched her head up slowly, fazed and cautioned by the sudden sincerity in his words. "Look around you. Do you think you'd be here if she did?"

Woody strained over these words as he continued to study his boots. A nagging at the back of his mind told him he should interfere - stop Pete before he went too far and did something to Jessie he might regret. His logic told him better. Nothing he could say or do could make this situation any better for them. His input would only cause further arguments and squabbling, and then who knows where they would be?

_Just let them at it, _he reasoned to himself. _You'll just make it worse._

Some period of time passed before anything else was said - whether five or twenty-five seconds, Woody hadn't a clue.

"Your precious little girl was nothing but a di-stract-ion from the truth," Pete gesticulated whimsically. "Nothing but a cheat. That's all children and grown-ups are. Cheats, liars, crooks, backstabbers - the whole lot of them. They buy you and they love you, and for those few, precious years, everything is perfect. Nothing is better, is it, Jessie? - I think you would know. But then, when they see a fancy new space-toy or video game or jump-rope in a store window, they forget about you, they _trash _you. Don't they, Jessie?"

It briefly occurs to Woody that Jessie hasn't yet retaliated, then the thought is gone.

"It will happen to every toy one day," Pete concluded. "They'll be thrown out, or replaced, or forgotten o-or...or they'll always be ignored." He shook his head. "Children ain't nothin' but bad news for us toys."

_Just let them at it. You'll just make it worse._

"That...that's not true," was all Jessie could muster. She was glaring at Pete, but she knew as well as Pete that if her pride could have even fathomed such a cowardly action, she would have looked away.

"Then shoot straight," Pete leaned avidly towards her. "Convince me otherwise."

"I-I..." she took a tentative step backwards, staggered, and came within an inch or so of falling flat on her backside. "I don't have to prove anything to you! Emily loved me! She just - she just - she just-"

"Just what, Jessie?"

"She-" she clapped a hand to her mouth, and could never finish that sentence.

"Just grew up?" Pete offered precariously. _(let them at it you'll just make it worse)_ "Just went walkin' down a different path in life? Because of her, you've spent years imprisoned in a _box_! And what for? Just to wait for _him!" _exclaimed Pete, jabbing a short, plump finger in Woody's direction.

Woody shuffled, pursed his lips, then stilled.

_You'll make it worse._

Pete chortled, "If Emily cared about you, she wouldn't have left you to wait for this excuse."

At that precise moment, Woody would later conclusively decide upon, Jessie snapped.

"Emily left me there for a reason!" she marched forward until she was but an inch away from the Prospector's box. "She didn't want to see me go to waste. She'd grown up! She'd gone and done what she wanted with her life and became an artist. She loved me, I know she did. But she just...she didn't have the time for me, so she donated me to someone else for them to play with me."

Pete's derogative grin, unmoving: "And that _really _worked out wonders, didn't it?"

"At least I've been loved!"

Two words came to the forefront of Woody's mind: _DANGER _and _CARD. _He somehow suspected that Jessie's words had perturbed Pete, who had been standing there, his hands having folded themselves on the top of his pickaxe during the course of their debate, with a somewhat genial disposition - but he was completely unfazed, his head tilted to the side as though to console her quarrels, a big fat gentle smirk on his face.

Pete opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. Before he could utter a single word Jessie inhaled deeply and rounded on Woody.

"And _you! _You're not helping!" Woody staggered backwards, hit the glass frame and stumbled to the side. "Are you really so darn tenacious that you won't help me? Andy loved you like Eh... like Emily loved me - I _know_ he does! It's clear to me that what I said to...to you last night didn't matter to you at all, otherwise you'd be helping me now instead of just standin' there lookin' like a dumb dog."

For the briefest of seconds, her eyes glistened as though she were appalled by what she had just said - but, otherwise, she stood her ground.

"I've made up my mind, Woody," she said, quietly now. "And you're not..._I'm _not going to let you stop me. I'm really not. I'm gonna make up a plan and Bullseye and I...we'll be gone by tomorrow."

"But, Jess-" he gasped, mounting shakily to his feet. "It'd be impossible to get out of here without rousing notice - like trying to break out of Alcatraz!"

Pete started, "But we still don't know what that damn Al is do-"

"Is that it with you?" she asked. "You're going to give up your kid?"

Bullseye whimpered, trembled, and slowly sank to the floor.

"Jessie, it's not like that..." the sight of Bullseye tugged at a heart string and hastened his train of thought for a split second. "Andy is everything to me, but I don't know...I don't-" Her glower coerced him to continue. "It could all end up being for nothing."

"What do you mean?" queried Jessie after a moment of silence.

"What I mean is...what-what if we don't make it?" Jessie could see that Woody was visibly struggling with the effort of trying to speak, almost as though his voice-box had rusted and broken with age. "What if...what if we get back and there's nothing to come back to?"

"Now I don't know what you are talkin', Sheriff, but let me 'ssure you that-"

"Woody?" For a moment, the sad sight of Bullseye fazed her and her defensive demeanour succumbed to a countenance of sorrowful love for him. But then the moment is gone, and her verdant eyes scour Woody. "What are you talking about? You want to get back to Andy – we _both _know that."

"I know, I know..." he ruminates, but the glistening in his eyes still gives way to doubt. "What I'm saying is...what if we try so hard to get back, and fail? What if Andy's forgotten about me, or what if he forgets about me in a year's time?" This strikes a chord in Jessie's heart; notwithstanding, he continues. "What if one of us gets lost on the way there? What if one of us boards a flight to France, or gets mauled by a dog on our way there? Do you think that we'd all be able to live with it if I got killed-?"

"I would..." sighed a despondent Pete

"-Or if Bullseye loses himself, or if you were picked up by some strange hooligan like Al, or if we all get back to Andy and he neglects us?"

"He wouldn't forget you-"

"Now look, Jessie," he elucidated. "I hate it here just as much as you do - being in a museum is just unnatural for a toy – and I love Andy more than anything else in the world, but is it really worth risking our lives? It might already be too late."

She glared disparagingly at him, her eyes wide and spiteful, "And that's it for you, is it? You're just gonna forget about your kid?"

"I don't want to go back if-"

"Is that _it_?!"

"We either all go back or none of us go back, Jessie!" he entreated, shocking Jessie into silence. He breathed deeply to catch his breath, "I...I don't want to go back if we can't all go back, Jess. I'm sorry – it just doesn't seem likely that we can all travel six-thousand miles as toys."

That point hung in the air, an impending phantom. Jessie, after gaining some composure, could only ascertain him from where she stood. Bullseye whimpered again, but this time she did not falter. "But that's not just _it, _is it, Woody?" she asked. "You're 'fraid that Andy might not love you any more."

"Jess-"

"You'd go back even 'lone if you thought you could – if you thought Andy would still love you, even in a few years time."

"We all know he won't – all children grow up."

"Prospector, keep _quiet._" Jessie said, her gaze never drifting from Woody. "Have you forgotten all about last week? You were trying to 'courage me to come with you, because you love Andy so much and you knew, you _knew_ that he'd love us! What happened to you? Did you get hit on your head? Have a bad dream or something-"

She paused, the change in Woody's expression reverberating his internal worries. "Oh, no, Woody... please don't tell me..."

He looked like he'd been slapped, or perhaps that he had got himself stuck somehow in a barrel of freezing cold water and was slowly losing colour. His gaze drooped lower and lower to the ground until he was staring at his boots again. When he spoke, his head did not lift.

"I'm sorry, Jessie...but I don't see how this can work."

Bullseye at last rose to his feet and ambled his way towards the rest of the group. He looked first longingly at Woody, then at Jessie, and dropped his head.

"We can't do this to Bullseye, Woody... He needs to be loved."

"But he _won't _be loved if he's lost in France!" But Jessie would hear none of it, and turned promptly towards Pete

"Jess-"

"I'm looking for a way out, Woody. You're not going to stop me."

"And just how do you think you're going to do that?" Pete smirked, twirling his pickaxe in his stumpy hands.

The glistening of light on the axe's paintwork caught Jessie's eye. Suddenly, she smirked and, with this grin pulling smugly against her lips, snatched the pick-axe out of Pete's hands and pushed him with all her might back into the box.

"WHAT? NO! YOU'RE RUIN-"

"How about-"

"-_NIING_ THE BOX! JESSIE, DON'T YOU DARE!"

"-_this_ way, Prospector?" the grin never faltered, even as she kicked and stomped at the front of his box, indenting it shut, and trapping Pete inside.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Team Cowboy.** _

**Chapter Thirteen**

_~X~X~X~_

"Jessie-"

"GOD DARNIT! JESSIE, YOU GET ME OUT RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

"And this is what you get for stabbin' me in the back after all these years," she chortled, giving his box one last hard kick. Pete cried out when it teetered backwards for a few seconds, and cursed at Jessie when it landed with a nice long _thur-UMP! _on the floor. She twirled Pete's axe in her hands, gestured it at him, and teased, "And _this, _Prospector, is what you get for insulting Emily."

"No, Jessie!" he almost whimpered, his hands recoiling back in terror. "That's mine! Give it back!"

"I don't think even her kind heart would have found the space to love you, you yellow, smelling _hog_!"

He threw himself against the front of his box with all his might, "You don't know what yer talkin' 'bout girl!" his face contorting with rage. He slammed his hands against the plastic covering of the box once, then twice more, his hands not even denting the material that imprisoned him. He attempted to lurch against the front of the box again, but gravity and exhaustion got the better of him and he fell back, panting. "For tarnation's sake, you've ruined everything. Give the axe back! GET ME OUT OF HERE! _JESSSSIEEEEE...!"_

Woody gawped at Jessie. It occurred to him for the briefest second that he should intervene and pull Jessie away from Pete, then the notion retired when he remembered suddenly how helpless he'd been when she'd had him pinned down last week, almost an eternity ago.

Jessie twirled the pick-axe in her hands again. He recalls the phantom itch from his dream, and shivers.

"You know, I've always wanted to hold this," she muttered, balancing the pick-axe absent-mindedly between her hands. "'Specially since you screwed up the bolts on the vent at Al's. Since then, I've wanted to unscrew your head with it, but oh well." She gazed at Al again, her eyes full of spite and anger and hatred towards the toy she had once trusted with her life. "Guess I can't win all the time, hey?"

Woody shook himself from his stupor. "Jessie – what are you doing?"

And now she turned to him, the hatred in her eyes boiling down into wild cunning, smiling slyly "What do you think, Woody?"

"I... No – Jess, you can't. It's too risky!"

"What about _Woody's Finest Hour, _Woody?" she asked. "That Woody jumped over a canyon with Bullseye to save us!"

His look widened into a confused, raw horror. "But we never saw if I made it or not! Bullseye and I might not have made it - the dynamite might have blown you and Pete to smithereens!"

"Well, then how about we go find out?" and then the wild cunning bubbled with anticipation into ecstatic delight. "How 'bout we write the episode ourselves? That's what's really held you back, isn't it? Not knowing. It's bothered me for years - that's what made me put up with the storage and Al...and _him,_" she gestured towards Pete again with the pickaxe, who now whimpered weakly. "And with keeping Bullseye unhappy - I never knew how the episode was going to end; I had no hope. Well, I say we smite Sputnik and _Space to the Max _and the dynamite and the cancelled show. We control our own destinies. We're not show-puppets, Woody. We're ragdolls - toys. We should have someone love us again like how Andy loved you and how...and how Emily loved me and how...well, I don't know about Bullseye - he's never been able to talk to tell me. We should be toys again, not artefacts, don't you think?"

"Yes, Jessie, I do. There's nothing I want more. But, we're stuck in the heart of a museum in _Tokyo, _one of the biggest and busiest cities in the world. It's impossible that we can escape without being seen."

"That didn't stop your friends, did it? They obviously cared about you and Andy enough to try and bring you back to him."

And then the flood-gates to his memories opened. Somehow, some way, she'd been able to conjure in him the memories of the maniacal Sid and Woody's own determination to get back to Andy no matter the cost; then, only days ago, the memory of the chivalry of Buzz and the gang, who'd ventured through the heart of their home city to bring Woody home safely back to Andy; and then, finally, the memory of his own selfishness in the face of Buzz when he'd displaced his loyalty for Andy with his affection for the Roundup Gang when he knew fully well he could have just taken Jessie's hand, Bullseye's hoof, kicked Pete's box over and whisked them all out of there to be with Andy and the rest of the gang. How could he forsake his friends after all they've done for him? How could he forsake Andy? He couldn't - even if it meant he'd have to spend the rest of his life destitute on the top shelf in Andy's room, watching him from above. Andy meant everything to him; his _friends _meant everything to him, both in Tokyo and at home. If Jessie could get over the prospect of being forgotten and get over the fear of being seen alive, then why couldn't he?

"Well?" Jessie asked expectantly, beginning to scowl now as Woody debated and pondered. "Are you helping or not? I'm going whether you like it or not. I'll find a way out, come back for Bullseye and leave. It doesn't matter if I go with you or not."

And so, perhaps against every principle and sense he had, perhaps against reason - perhaps against nature - he sighed, puffed out his chest, and nodded.

...

"I don't like all this uncertainty," muttered Rex, frantically wringing his small two scaly hands together as he paced from side to side. "I don't like this at all!"

"Oh, just put a cork in it, Godspilla," Mr. Potato-Head pipde, ushering Rex into a precipitous silence by planting an index finger to his lips.

"Honey, show some compassion!" Mrs. Potato-Head insisted. "He's feeling very delicate!"

"_Delicate? _He's the clumsiest toy I know!"

Rex shifted from side to side, "You know I don't have good balance! It's all apart of my play-line."

"Play-line?" The spud iterated. "You're the only dinosaur I know who'd destroy everything without meaning to."

"What does that mean?" Rex asked, his head tilted slightly to the side.

Mr. Potato-Head rolled his eyes. His wife at his side frowned at his blatant disregard of Rex's anxiety. Sometimes - _all _the time it may seem for others - her husband had the tendency to think with just a _little _bit more haste than he ought to, often forgetting that other people have feelings too and that his actions and words can negatively affect them. She didn't always think too much of this because most of the toys in Andy's room were able to retaliate for themselves - and _this _often did put Potato-Head in his place. When it came to the likes of the delicate however, like Rex or Bo Peep or any of the other young toys, she knew her husband's grumpy demeanour could be just a little bit too much. She couldn't blame her husband, though. He was a nice toy, really, deep inside where his heart was. Sometimes you just have to dig a little bit past his starchy innards and work a little harder to find it.

"Just ignore him, Rex," Mrs. Potato-Head said delicately, leaning towards him a little cupping the side of her mouth with her left hand. "He just woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning."

"Oh here we go!" Bellowed Mr. Potato-Head, throwing his arms in the air. "_Every_ time."

His wife was unfazed, "Don't worry about it, Rex. I'm sure she'll be back in a minute."

"But what if she's never back?" asked Rex nervously. "What if she's gone? She could have left us! She could have been taken! She could be anywhere! She could be in Texas! She could be in _Spain_! She's always wanted to go there!"

"Yeah," Mr. Potato-Head muttered. "Because that's really just a hop, step and a jump away."

"Oh, what are we going to do?!"

"Panicking is surely a _brilliant _idea…"

"Oh, hush love," said Mrs. Potato-Head in a rather unfazed tone. "He's just upset. Now, don't worry, Rex. I'm sure my dear husband will sort to all the answer-seeking business. Won't you, my love?"

He narrowed one eye, "What?"

"You'll help Rex - oh, darlings, there you are!" exclaimed Mrs Potato-Head upon catching sight of her three green, alien sons. "I thought you might have got lost with Hamm on your trip to Molly's room! Oh, I'm so glad to see you - come here to Mommy!"

And so she, with a rather perplexing stretch of her limbs, embraced all three of her children.

Dimly, Potato-Head groaned.

"Oh, did you have a nice time?" she inquired, stepping back from the aliens as if to make sure they hadn't been mauled by Buster on their ways back from the room. "Did you see the Barbie's? You did?! Oh, I'm so pleased they like you—I just knew they would. And, Hamm, oh Hamm..." she smiled genially. "Have you seen dear Bo? We've been looking for her for ages."

"She's looking for her sheep," he said, idly trotting forward. "Did I not mention that - ?"

"You saved our lives," the aliens, bombarding Potato-Head with robotic, unrelenting embraces, interrupted Hamm before he could finish. "We are eternally grateful."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the spud ushered, reluctantly accepting their offerings before endeavouring to distance himself from their holds. He waved them away, but they either seemed not to understand the logistics of personal space, or fancied their adopted father ignorant of any eternal blessing. He overbalanced, wavered back on his feet, and hastily debriefed, "Come on! Your mother and I were just about to see if Bo really had been cheating with Ha - "

Potato-Head caught himself a second too late. He groaned.

Hamm's left eye narrowed in befuddlement, "Excuse me-"

"Oh, Husband!" cried Mrs. Potato-Head. "Why would you startle our dear Hamm like that? After all he's been through! Now, Hamm, darling, he didn't mean anything by that. I can assure you of that."

Unabated, Hamm asked, "You all thought that I was romantically engaged with Bo? That's insane!"

"Yeah. She has a bit more sense-"

"Husband!" exclaimed Mrs. Potato-Head, assailing her husband with a very reproachful glower. "Don't be rude to dear Hamm! Let him speak."

With one eye perpetually narrowing into a closed slit, a look so characteristic of the shrewd, dry-humoured Hamm, "Hey, Mrs. Potato-Head, I've noticed you're using a few too many more "dears" and "darlings" than meets your regular quota," a grin widened on his face, then deflated. He was just too tired. "I see you've been under this notion for a while, eh?"

"Oh, no, dear-"

"How long, exactly?" he asked politely - not so characteristic of Hamm.

"Well...I don't know exactly," she said, flustering. She pursed her lips together, then parted them in a low resonating perch, almost as though trying to voice an alibi that posed less creditability than a child's lullaby. "It...it just sort of happened, dear-"

"Oh, I can't keep this up anymore!" wailed Rex. The last hopes of them acquitting themselves of their crime went flying out of the window, along with Rex's pleas for forgiveness. "I'm so, so, so, _so _sorry Hamm! It was the sheep, _the sheep_ I tell ya! You were helping her look for the sheep! That's what Woody does! So we thought - we thought...oh, no..."

"Wait, hang on a sec'," entreated Hamm, casting a very sceptical glance around the group of toys before him (excluding the aliens of course - to them, he smiled and winked very uncharacteristically). "You thought _- assumed _- that, because you thought I was helping Bo find her sheep, Bo was having an affair with me?"

"Well, no, dear-"

"Your ideas are preposterous!" said Hamm, chortling. "I'm a piggybank! - I hardly feel obliged to satisfy any innuendos you all have about and Bo - and, besides, I don't even have _lips!"_

"Oh, we're so sorry, Hamm!" wailed Rex. "We're so, _so _sorry..."

"Wait, Hamm," interrupted Mr. Potato-Head, a thoughtful finger hooked underneath his chin. "If you _weren't _helping Bo find her sheep, what were you two doing?"

"I'd hardly feel that was any of your business, Potato-Head."

"Well, it is if you two are going off being up to no good!" Potato-Head exclaimed. "'Specially with Woody and Buzz gone, we can't afford to lose you and Bo too! Imagine poor Andy if he lost you two too. And poor Molly - she won't be able to steal Andy's change from you when she's older! Oh, a childhood lost and wasted! And what about you two? What would happen to you two if you went missing? You're both porcelain! Bo would shatter before she even went out of the door and you - well, you...broken, with all your six dollars in change _gone. _We're family, Hamm - we stick together until the end. And...and...and...oh, forget it! Speeches were never my thing."

"Nor emotions," countered Hamm, but dimly he could hear the sounds of Mrs. Potato-Head's gentle weeping.

Unmoved, Rex said, " And you two were just gone for _so _long! We were just so worried-"

"Rex," Hamm sighed. "Calm down, there's nothing to be worried a-"

"Dear Hamm's right, Rex - there's nothing-"

"I'm so sorry! Please forgive me! I'd do anything, anything you want, just _please _don't be angry."

"Can you just calm down a sec'?" Hamm demanded, shaking his head, perturbing Rex into a whimpering silence. "I'm not angry with you. I'm simply wondering where all your fantasies are coming from. How could _any _of you manage to think that Bo and I were together? In fact, just scratch that - it's none of your business anyway. I'm just a little shocked. Shocked and mortified."

"Look, pig-head, all we're wanting to know is what you and the mistress were doing, s'all. I didn't just make that speech for nothing."

"We weren't doing anything, Potato-Head," boycotted Hamm. "We were just spending time together-"

"Hamm! Hamm! Where are you?!" A scuttling in the distance diverted the group's quarrel, and all four of them turned their heads towards the door of Andy's room in time to see Bo heading towards them, one hand raking at the hem of her dress whilst the other held her blue staff. "Hamm! Oh, there you are! Konishi...he...he...he called back. He said he...he..."

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" asked Mrs Potato-Head, her hands perched over her hollow heart.

"Why...he's made an inquiry, Hamm. They know – well, at least I think they know – that he's stolen! We could get him back - " her eyes widened when she took notice of the other three around her, and she stilled very suddenly, wide-eyed and shocked. "Oh...no..."

"Wait, the museum knows he was stolen?" Potato-Head asked. "That's impossible. Tokyo's like a billion miles away from here."

Dimly, Hamm groaned.

"Oh, no..." Bo placed a hand as though feverish to her forehead. "This has all gone so terribly wrong - none of you were supposed to know. Oh, Hamm, we've ruined it!"

"No, Bo, we haven't-"

"Wait, what's going here?" demanded Potato-Head. "Does the museum know he's stolen or not? And if they do, what the heck are they going to do about it? _Can _they do anything about it? From what I've gathered, Woody's worth about a gazillion dollars!"

"It's not a question of _can_ they do anything about it, it's a question of _will_," Hamm subjoined, nodding at the panting, anxious Bo to calm her down. "Konishi is a business entrepreneur - he's not going give a chance like that up."

Bo gasped, "Unless..."

Hamm cocked an eyebrow, "Unless what?"

"On the website, the museum said that they were facing some financial issues at the moment, and that to try and raise profit they were trying out various exhibitions in order to improve their customer feedback - sort of taster-days, if you like."

"I thought that guy had been wanting the Roundup Gang for years?" Potato-Head said.

"Well, they had been, I think," she reasoned. "Things must be so bad for them that they'd want to try anything out. Anyway, on the same exhibition floor, they have another toy-line series called _Space to the Max."_

_"_Is that the rip-off of Buzz's show?" Rex asked.

"I think so. They're very popular, according to the website, and the show's a huge hit to the fans. So, I'm thinking, why don't we leave reviews on the site pretending that we'd visited the _Space to the Max _exhibition and wish it to survive?"

"That'd be an idea," praised Hamm. "One question, though: what happens then?"

Bo pursed her lips, and shrugged. "I guess we'd have to wait and see."

...

Closing time was in fifteen minutes, and a frustrated Al McWhiggan still hadn't checked out of the library.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath. "Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, damn _it!" _He slammed his fifth stack of animation books down onto the table at the corner of the library and separated them out. One slipped right off the table with a nice _thumpah _onto the floor. He remained oblivious. "There's got to be _something! _There's a musuem for _toys _just down the street, for Pete's sake, you'd think there'd at least be a trace in a library this big."

He selected a book from the collection by process of_ eeny, meeny, miny, moe _and picked it up with greasy hands, having not washed in days. He dropped it once, lifted it again, and filed through the many pages.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Spotting nothing noteworthy, he placed (not as much gently put down as he did throw it with all the might of a sugar-deprived four-year-old) the book down. A studying student working on one of the many computers across from him jolted in fright and continued to eye him curiously. "Why didn't I learn Japanese before coming to this country?"

Ever-more impatient, he searched through the other books and found absolutely nothing on _Woody's Roundup _or any associated merchandise. "All of this, and there's absolutely nothing," he muttered, bracing his hands at the edge of the table and leaning forward. "That guy _must _have been lying. That's the only way to explain why I can't find anything."

Al groaned, swore, and let his gaze saunter across the room. Ten minutes until closing time, the library was near empty. The visual inanition reminded him only of the time he'd spent in here, and of how little he had to show for this wasted time.

"If only there was something, _something,_" he gyrated his neck from side-to-side in dismay, his face contorting, his eyes scrunching, opening-

He froze.

Across from him, where the young student was studying the intricate art of procrastination, was a table of computers. In his panic to find any information he could find concerning the released products of _Woody's Roundup_, he must have overlooked the computers - a major contribution to any type of research, most probably the most helpful he could find-

Seven minutes to closing time.

Not hesitating now (he hadn't the time to spare), he hastened over to the nearest available computer, comfortably oblivious to the student who'd made it his discreet business to oggle the lumbering man, and started the computer. It took its leisurely time loading, not hurrying at all. At last, the tab to the Internet opened.

Al checked his watch.

Five minutes to closing time.

Moaning now, he punched the following into the search-engine: _Woddy's Round up mercandis_

The results were not much to his liking—dimly, he noticed he'd spelled 'Woody' wrong—so he fixed up the search as best as he could.

And hoped for the best.

"Come on – I _need_ to find this merchandise. Please, please, _please..._" The results popped up and he eagerly clicked the first listed article, fancying its being somewhat helpful. "What's this?" he queried, pushing his greasy glasses up his nose with one stubby finger. "'_The Long Lost _'Woody's Roundup': _Witness what was meant to be!__' _What could that mean? Hmm...it seems that they were _meant _to bring out other merchandise, _but..._hey, what is this?" he squinted against the brightness of the computer screen, brows furrowing, lips curling peculiarly at the sides like some strange hieroglyph. Eyes sweeping to and fro across the screen, he muttered, "_Due to increase in popularity, _blah...blah...blah..._the__ makers and creators of the critically acclaimed 'Woody's Roundup', whose domestic comedies were surely revolutionary - _oh, what a suck-_up, _yawwwnnnn - _had been set with the intentions of releasing brand-new, certified merchandise (do we spy our favourite 'best-in-the-west' courting our beloved yodelling cowgirl?)_ - now, come on, that is _not _likely -_ to promote the long-awaited conclusion to Woody's Finest Hour. _Yeah, yeah, yeah..._ But...despite the show's imminent domestic prosperity, ratings declined in the late 50's due to excessive domestic infatuation with _Sputnik _and its universal revelations and this promising merchandise never came to fruition- _Oh, YES!"

He stood up, abruptly sending his chair crashing into the floor, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, yes, yes, _yes! _Thank the lords! I knew he was lying! Oh, yes!"

And so he chanted triumphantly, pumping his fists up and down in the air. He was so lost in glee as he sauntered from the library that he hadn't even noticed that the librarian was demanding his immediate departure, or else she'd call the police.


End file.
